


I'm In Trouble Deep

by Allthelivelonglarry, orphan_account, sammie4jones, Scrufflecake



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Financial Issues, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mentions of Abortion, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Pancakes of Betrayal, Sad Harry, Side Ziall, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allthelivelonglarry/pseuds/Allthelivelonglarry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammie4jones/pseuds/sammie4jones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrufflecake/pseuds/Scrufflecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been nothing but clear with Harry from day one.  “Don’t fall for me,” he said, eyes bright and dancing, fingers in Harry’s belt loops tugging him forward even as his words pushed him away.  “I’m not your happily ever after.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a group effort from day one, and it goes out to the amazing allegedlymags and all of the clique who keep us sane every day. We love you, mags.

Harry wakes with the sun in his eyes. He blinks slowly; confused.

The dorm room curtain isn’t pulled all the way across, and a sliver of bright autumn light is shining right across his face. He sighs and moves away from it, encountering a warm, sleeping form behind him. Harry closes his eyes and presses back into the heat, snuggling against the arm wrapped loosely around his waist. He gives a contented sigh.

And then his brain catches up with his body.

Harry opens his eyes, taking in the tanned arm lying across his hip, littered with tattoos. He’s woken up with Louis, again. His stomach sinks.

He lifts Louis’ arm gently and shifts to sit on the edge of the twin bed. His head pounds with the third round of tequila shots they’d had before leaving the bar and his mouth feels like he might have swallowed a sweater. On the floor, there are two discarded condom wrappers and the bottle of lube, lying right where Louis had spilled it the second time, cursing and mouthing at Harry’s neck, so desperate to be inside him.

Just thinking about the sex makes Harry’s pulse flutter and his skin flush.

This whole thing's a disaster.

He thought it was the quintessential college experience, as a freshman. To find a smoking-hot junior who wanted to hook up on the regular, no strings attached. Louis is impossibly good looking; well-dressed in that effortless way that says _money_ without being flashy. He buys Harry endless rounds of cocktails at high-end clubs that Harry could otherwise never afford the cover for. And the sex.

God, the sex.

Harry groans, scrubbing a hand over his face as he looks at Louis’ sleeping form.

He thought he could do it. He really did. He certainly talked a big game, never once revealing that Louis is only the second person he’s ever slept with. Laughing right along with Louis’ jokes about the idiots who tie themselves down with college sweethearts. He questioned Louis only once, and it had been like poking a bruise. A glancing shadow crossed Louis’ face before his expression shuttered. “Love is a fool’s game, Harold. It’s not for me. You can’t trust a guy to settle down. We should know.”

The conspiratorial wink he gave Harry made him feel a little ill, so he protested. “I mean, guys can be faithful. When they want to be.”

“That’s cute, Harry,” Louis laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. There was something ugly and jagged underneath the words. “But you shouldn’t confuse virtue with a lack of opportunity.”

And as if to prove his point, Louis left the bar that night with someone else.

So Harry decided he’d take what he could get. He hasn’t got time for anything serious anyway, if he’s going to maintain his grades and keep this scholarship. And he has to, for his mom’s sake.

Louis stirs beside him, groaning and swallowing repeatedly, pressing his face back into the pillow. He looks young like this, his hard edges smoothed out. Harry lifts a hand, as if to touch him, but yanks it back straight away. They don’t cuddle. He certainly doesn’t get to pet Louis.

“I need breakfast,” he says instead, fishing around under Louis’ bed for his underwear. His head gives another stab of protest as he stands up. “Would you want to…” he trails off. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. They don’t ever see each other during the day.

As if thinking the same thing, Louis turns his face on the pillow and stares at Harry, a small frown drawing his eyebrows together. He opens his mouth, but closes it again without saying anything.

“Nevermind. I don’t… Don’t worry about it,” Harry stammers, hopping into his jeans and tugging on his shirt. _Stupid_ , he berates himself, _fucking idiot_. He shoves his feet into his boots and grabs his wallet and his keys. “I’ll see you ‘round.” Louis says nothing. Harry shuts the door behind him without looking back.

Harry’s walk of shame takes him back across a campus full of students starting their day. Joggers run past him with earmuffs on, and Harry tugs his rumpled shirt closed against the chill. He’s such a fool. He can’t believe he suggested breakfast.

Louis has been nothing but clear with Harry from day one. “Don’t fall for me,” he said, eyes bright and dancing, fingers in Harry’s belt loops tugging him forward even as his words pushed him away. “I’m not your happily ever after.”

And Harry laughed. Made sharp quips about how arrogant Louis was, and how no college freshman wanted a happily ever after, they just wanted to fuck.

But now.

God, now.

He’s falling for Louis. It crept over Harry at a glacial pace, and he didn’t even fully realize it until he looked at him this morning and wanted nothing more than to share pancakes with him at a diner.

 _So_ , Harry thinks, thrusting the key into the lock of his own room, and falling face-first onto his bed fully-clothed. _That’s never happening again._

When he wakes again, the sun is setting. A fresh wave of regret surges over him. Another day wasted, sleeping off a hangover when he should have been studying or looking for a job.  
There’s a glass of water and an Advil on his bedside table. Jeff, Harry thinks. He hadn’t even heard his roommate come in.

He checks his phone. A text from Niall suggesting lunch, and another an hour later telling him to go fuck himself, littered with a bunch of random emoji.

Nothing from Louis.

He scrolls back through their message history. It makes for a sordid, one-sided read. Louis always the instigator, and always late at night, drunk, or both. Harry thinks briefly about blocking his number, and then huffs out a laugh at himself. Louis isn’t _irresistible_ , for fucks sake. Harry just needs to get his act together and focus.

He drags himself to the communal bathroom, and turns the temperature up on the shower as far as he can stand, letting the scalding water sluice over his aching back. His shower caddy is almost out of body wash, and he makes a mental list of things he needs from the grocery store. Just thinking about it causes bile to rise up in his throat. He hasn’t checked his bank balance for a couple of days, but he knows it’s not good. If it wasn’t for the meal plan included in his tuition, he’d be in trouble. Worry gnaws at him.

The shower was supposed to make him feel better, but as he dresses he can still feel Louis all over him. Hands threaded through his hair, teeth grazing against his shoulder, sinfully skilled fingers making Harry come undone. He throws his books in a bag and stalks to the library. A couple of hours buried in macroeconomic theory is the perfect antidote to thinking about sex.

~*~

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry manages to settle into a solid routine. He eats better. Doesn’t drink at all, even when Jeff or Niall try to convince him with the promise of three-for-one happy hour, or free buffalo wings, at some awful campus bar.

More importantly, _most_ importantly, he doesn’t see Louis.

The texts continue for a while: late at night, intent unmistakeable. But Harry just rolls out a revolving catalog of excuses.

_Studying._

_Exam in the morning._

_Heading home for the weekend._

Once, he watches the little dots flash up on screen indicating that Louis is typing a reply. But after a moment, the dots disappear and there’s no message.

Louis doesn’t text him again.

Days later, Harry takes the bus from campus to the little shopping plaza in town. He’s been putting it off until he hears whether his work study application has been approved, because he’s pretty sure his credit card is almost maxed out, but he can’t keep borrowing Jeff’s body wash or he’ll start to notice. Harry thinks about his trip home at Christmas, and whether he can get to Costco and stock up on cheaper supplies while he’s there. He needs to text Gemma and convince her they shouldn’t do gifts this year. Robin’s treatment is so expensive that he hates the idea of his mom feeling any additional pressure. He takes out his phone, and isn’t paying attention as he rounds the aisle and smacks straight into someone coming the other way. Someone carrying a can of fabric spray, and smelling unmistakably of cigarettes and a cologne Harry once googled to find to his horror retailed at two hundred dollars a bottle.

“Hey, stranger.” Louis’ hair is a little longer, styled scruffily across his forehead. He’s unshaven, impossibly beautiful, and the blood that was formerly powering Harry’s brain all heads south in an instant. He’s looking at Harry with surprise, as if this is the last place he expected to see him. “Where have you been?” He almost sounds like he might have been concerned.

“Studying, mostly,” Harry manages. Louis looks amazing, and Harry can’t stop staring. He feels like someone breaking a fast.

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Well, you missed several _very_ good nights out,” he says, something lascivious creeping through his tone. Not really concerned, then. His message is clear: Louis certainly hasn’t been fasting. Harry’s arousal curdles in his veins.

“It’s, uh…” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “It’s good seeing you.”

Louis nods once, giving him an inscrutable look, and then walks away.

He’s gone by the time Harry gets to the cash register with his meagre collection of items, and he’s grateful that Louis isn’t around to see his card get declined. Harry leaves the store embarrassed and empty- handed, and heads back to campus.

Jeff is sprawled across his bed with a friend, watching one of those action films that seem to have more explosions than dialogue. He looks up as Harry lets himself in.

“Thought you were going shopping?”

Harry shrugs and doesn’t offer an explanation. The last thing he needs is his roommate’s pity.

He grabs his books and heads to class, sliding into a seat beside Niall in the back row. He doesn’t need to explain anything to Niall. They make an improbable pair. Inseparable friends since Niall’s family had moved to the US for his father’s career. The Irish boy had been there for Harry when his stepfather was diagnosed with cancer; helped him with the scholarship applications when it became clear that his family’s financial pressures were ruling out college. And now he just keeps a judgement-free eye on Harry, lending him his Netflix password and buying him boxes of pop tarts and that coconut water Harry really likes. It doesn’t feel like charity from Niall, and for that, Harry is absurdly grateful.

His friend already has his head down on the desk.

“So tired. Everything hurts.” He mumbles, nuzzling against Harry’s arm.

Harry laughs. “Late night?”

Niall lifts his head and slumps back in his seat. “Nah. Played footie yesterday. Turns out I’m in terrible shape.”

“All that Guinness was bound to catch up with you eventually,” Harry smirks, patting a hand on Niall’s belly. His friend shoves at him.

“How dare you. Stout is practically a health drink.” Harry’s pretty sure Niall plays up his Irish heritage more than is strictly necessary.

“Tastes like drinking beer through an ashtray,” he retorts as he opens his notebook. “Who were you playing with?”

“Louis,” Niall replies, doodling an elaborate series of circles on his course outline. Harry bites his lip, thinking about the awkward encounter in the store. About the fact that Louis would never suggest a game of soccer to Harry. Or really anything that didn’t involve getting horizontal as quickly as possible.

It makes him uneasy.

~*~

On the weekend, Niall swings by Harry’s dorm demanding that he accompany him to eat all the food God made.

“Swear on my life, Harry. I’ve never been this hungover. We need pancakes. And hashbrowns. And biscuits with gravy. And then we need to put all those things on top of each other, so we can fit wings on the plate.”

Harry’s stomach turns at the thought. It sounds disgusting. And…expensive.

“I don’t know, mate. I should really…” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the pile of texts on his desk. There’s still ramen in his cupboard. It will be fine.

“Ridiculous,” Niall responds, dragging him from the room. “It’s my treat.”

Which is how Harry finds himself picking listlessly at a pile of french fries and listening to Niall tell some convoluted story about Louis, a game of FIFA, and some wager that may or may not have involved fireball whiskey and a plate of flaming haloumi.

“It was cheese,” Niall says seriously, in the awed tone he reserves for sporting miracles and particularly important developments in food. “And it was on fire.”

Harry hums noncommittally. The french fries seemed like a good idea when he ordered them, but now they just seem limp and greasy. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Louis.” It’s not really a question. He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up.

Niall gives him a look that’s hard to decipher. “He’s a decent guy when you get to know him.”

Harry snorts. “I know him plenty.” Niall’s seen Louis slam Harry up against the wall of a club more than once. He’s rolled his eyes when Harry’s come back from a bathroom looking disheveled. He’s not _unfamiliar_ with nature of Harry’s relationship with Louis. Ex-relationship. Non-relationship. _Whatever_.

Niall shoves another fork-load of pancakes into his mouth, his expression thoughtful while he chews noisily. “Maybe you should try and get to know him with your pants on. You guys would actually get along.”

Harry drops his fry, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Doubt it,” he disagrees, thinking about the things he does know about Louis. “He’s great in the sack, but he’s _also_ a rich, commitment-phobic manwhore. He hates kids, never wants to settle down, he’s the complete opposite of everything I’m looking for in a guy.”

Niall laughs. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, “but it was a mistake. Several mistakes. Not ones I’m making again.”

Niall just shrugs, and starts to eat Harry’s fries.

On the drive back to campus, Harry starts to feel too hot. He winds the window down, sticking his face into the wind like a dog. For a dreadful second he thinks he might be sick. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks Niall, who ate literally all of the things on Harry’s plate. If there was something off at the diner, he’d know.

“Yeah, why?”

Harry shakes it off. Maybe he’s coming down with something. He figures an early night will help, but the next day it’s like it settles into his bones and stays there all week. He feels tired all the time, missing classes and sleeping through his alarm. Even Jeff starts to worry.

“Dude, you haven’t slept this much since you stopped banging that guy.” Jeff likes to needle Harry about his abrupt lack of a sex life, because it means he’s staying in their room a lot more than he used to.

Harry blinks and rubs at his eyes, disoriented. He’s been asleep most of the morning. “Yeah, it’s just…I don’t know actually. I guess I must have a virus or something.”

Jeff wrinkles his nose in a way that suggests he hopes it’s not contagious, and gives him a wide berth while Harry pulls on his jeans and gathers his books.

He makes it about half-way across campus when his stomach finally betrays him. There’s nothing he can do but lurch over the nearest low stone wall and empty the contents onto the grass. His face is hot, and his heart is racing, and he’s so mortified he wants to die. A group of athletes throwing a frisbee nearby whoop and holler. Someone claps him on the back and congratulates him on an epic night out. Harry wipes frantically at his mouth, looks helplessly at the mess he’s left in the grass, and jogs back to his room.

“I thought you had class?” Jeff looks confused, as Harry toes off his shoes and collapses on his bed with a groan.

“I threw up.”

“Shit, really? Maybe you should go to the clinic?”

Harry thinks about it. Even if the work study job finally comes through, he can’t afford the clinic. Particularly for something stupid like stomach flu. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs, and rolls over to go back to sleep.

He wakes the next morning, feeling clammy and uncomfortable, his shirt clinging to him with sweat even though it’s not remotely warm in the room. His phone is ringing, and when he finally manages to coordinate his limbs enough to answer it, Niall’s voice is practically deafening.

“Jesus, don’t shout,” he murmurs.

“I’m not! Listen, Saturday. We’re throwing a party here at the house and you’re coming. I’m tired of Stay At Home Harry. He’s boring. You’re not boring.” Niall lives with an unreasonably large number of guys in a collapsing house on the edge of campus. He swears it beats the dorms hands down, but Harry’s far from convinced.

He groans. “The last time I came to a party at your house I wound up hooking up with Louis in the basement, and had to walk home barefoot because some asshole poured green chartreuse all over my shoes. I liked those shoes, Niall. They were my favorites.”

“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t taken them off to go let Louis bend you over a bathroom sink, you’d still have them.” Niall seems unsympathetic.

“Fuck you, I’m going back to sleep.”

“All you do is sleep, Harry. This isn’t normal. Come on, come to the party. I’ll buy you new shoes.” Niall isn’t above bribery. Or whining.

“You will not.”

“I will. Those stupid fancy booties you had your eye on in town last month. The hairy ones.”

“They weren’t _hairy_ , you fucking heathen,” Harry splutters. “They were _fringed_.” And amazing. And totally out of Harry’s price range. He knows Niall’s not going to take no for an answer about the shoes now that Harry’s revealed how much he liked them, so he reluctantly agrees.

Niall deposits a shopping bag with the boots in them on the desk in Harry’s study carrel at the library two days later. “Here you go gorgeous, make yourself pretty.” Harry tries to look indignant, but fails. Niall’s expression of triumph is altogether too endearing, and he gives his friend a tight hug. “It’s good to see you feeling better,” Niall calls over his shoulder, as he wanders away.

Harry doesn’t tell him it’s the third day in a row he’s thrown up his breakfast.

~*~

The party’s in full swing by the time Harry jogs up the steps. He’s wearing his new boots, but he figures as he plans on keeping them on his feet this time, he should be safe.

There’s a clutch of people sitting out on the porch, and Harry realizes Louis is among them, perched on the lap of a guy Harry’s never seen before. Dark hair, fine features; a full sleeve of tattoos peeking out from the rolled sleeve of his jacket. Artful stubble across his jaw, when Harry can’t even grow a moustache. They’re sharing a joint, and the loose way the stranger has his arm around Louis seems unbearably intimate. Louis doesn’t look up.

Harry pushes his way into the house, past some people dancing in the lounge, and grabs a red solo cup, filling it with water from the kitchen faucet. There’s no way he’s drinking alcohol tonight. He may have been just a notch on Louis’ bedpost, but he’s not making a mistake like that again.

He finds Niall by following the sound of his outrageously loud laughter. He’s embroiled in heated game of beer pong with two of his housemates. All three men cheer when they see Harry.

“Show us yer boots, Harry!” Niall cries, his accent always ridiculously thick when he’s been drinking.

Harry does a mock catwalk around the pong table, popping his hip and flipping his hair, to cheers and wolf whistles. Harry laughs, thinking about how grateful he is for Niall and his uncomplicated approach to life. In the years he’s known him, Niall has always made him feel included and always looked out for him.

Tonight’s no exception. Niall is drunk enough that he doesn’t even notice Harry is sticking to water. He drags him around mocking Harry’s recent absence by introducing him to people he’s known all year - “This is _Harry_! You might not remember him” - and telling increasingly outlandish stories about what Harry did to earn a new pair of boots. Harry can almost enjoy it. Despite the low-grade headache that the loud music seems to be causing, and the underlying nauseous feeling that hasn’t left him alone for a week now.

Suddenly they’re interrupted by a loud, happy squealing coming from the other side of the room. On instinct, Harry turns, and there’s Louis, still wrapped around the boy with the dark eyes and the sinful physique. They’re giggling and obviously teasing another guy who is standing with them. Buzzed brown hair; muscular. Harry thinks his name is Liam.

Before he can work out a way to extricate himself, Niall is dragging Harry over to them. The booze has clearly made him forget Harry is on a strict no-Louis diet. Or he doesn’t care. Niall greets the group, tugging Harry into the circle by his wrist. He introduces Harry to Liam.

“And Louis, this is Harry. Harry, Louis.” Niall waggles his eyebrows like a bad Vaudevillian. Harry feels stiff and awkward, and _way_ too sober for this. He sees Louis freeze up a little as well, and he’s figures he probably doesn’t want his past with Harry brought up in front of the new conquest.

The new conquest, however, seems unfazed. “I’m Zayn,” he says, shaking Niall and Harry’s hands in turn, before returning his arm to Louis’ waist. “I’ve known this one since we were kids. I go to RISD but we’re on break at the moment, so I thought I’d come visit.”

“I fucking love design,” Niall, who has never expressed even a passing interest in the arts says, as he draws closer to Zayn.

Zayn gives him an indulgent smile. “I’m actually studying print-making.”

“Fucking love that too,” Niall assures him, and Harry’s beginning to wonder if it’s just that Niall loves strong jawlines and long, dark lashes. Harry rolls his eyes. Niall thinks he can pull Zayn, who looks like he just walked out of a Prada shoot, and hasn’t slackened his grip on Louis’ waist. Ever the optimist.

A petite blonde in an inconceivably tight sweater drags Liam away to dance. Harry recognizes her from one of his stats classes, and he watches disinterestedly as she grinds up on Liam immediately. It’s way too early for this. He’s _definitely_ too sober.

Louis makes a disgruntled sound, earning himself a dig in the ribs from Zayn.

“What? It’s true. She’s a fucking gold digger. She’s only ever hanging off Liam when he buys her things. Doesn’t have two cents to rub together and she’s spent all year sponging off him. And he keeps falling for it.”

Harry’s stomach sinks, and he wishes for a second that the floor would open up and swallow him. He can’t bring himself to look at Louis and see if the comment is aimed at him, but his brain starts cataloging all the drinks, and the weed and the late-night burgers, and god knows what else Louis has paid for over the semester. He thinks about his new boots, that suddenly feel uncomfortable on his feet. Does Louis think that way about Niall’s gifts? Does he think Harry’s been sponging off them both?

Harry starts to feel overwhelmed by the ever-growing crowd of people, the smell of smoke and the thumping music. He’s no longer sure what he’s doing here. The joy he’d felt earlier prancing around with Niall has evaporated. Then it happens. He feels that weird bubbling in his stomach again. The bile rising up his throat, that burning sensation of fighting back the urge to throw up. It comes over him far too quickly, and Harry clutches his stomach, vomiting on the floor in front of him.

“What in the ever living fuck!” Niall yells, leaping clear of the mess. “Christ, you can’t handle your booze.”

Harry straightens up, feeling dizzy. Zayn looks disgusted. Liam is already in motion to help clean up the mess. And Louis, poor fucking Louis. He has vomit on his shoes and the hem of his pants. Harry looks up at him with wide, wet eyes. Louis starts to dry heave behind his hand.

Niall is laughing so hard, he’s going red in the face, doubled over and leaning heavily on his knees.

Harry uses his shirt to wipe his mouth. “I’m sorry, _fuck_. I’m so sorry.”

Liam now has an armful of old towels, some random cleaning spray and a roll of paper towels. Harry takes the paper towels from Liam, who has already bent over to help clean up the mess. Louis snatches one out of Harry’s hand, wiping at his jeans.

Niall is still laughing. “Leave it,” he manages, gasping for breath. “Leave it. Just throw a towel over it. We have a cleaner coming tomorrow.” He tugs Liam up by the arm.

Harry looks at the mess. “Niall, I can’t just leave _vomit_ on the floor for some poor cleaner.” It’s a horrible idea. If nothing else, he can’t possibly leave here with the smell like that. It’s already enough to make him want to retch again.

“God, Harry. Get up,” Louis sounds irritated. “Niall’s right. That’s what he pays her for.”

Harry’s face heats up with embarrassment. He wants to wipe at Louis’ shoes but he suddenly feels out of his depth, kneeling like this in front of the others. And ill, and so very tired. He gets to his feet shakily, and leaves to go find his jacket.

As Harry pushes out into the cold night air, grateful to be escaping the mocking taunts of the other students, he overhears Louis talking to Niall. “Does he have a drinking problem? That’s some freshman-level bullshit.”

Harry doesn’t wait to hear Niall’s response.

~*~

Harry keeps his head down for the next few days, too mortified to do much other than get to and from class. He feels sure news of his barftastic adventures will have spread, and the last thing he needs is to run into anyone who was at the party.

He only really hears from Niall, who seems to be behaving unusually even by his own peculiar standards. Harry has a string of texts and voicemails asking if he’s okay, but more bizarrely, Niall keeps asking if he’s keeping anything from him. Harry knows he made a scene, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t warrant this reaction.

He’d worry about it more, but the truth is he’s more concerned about the fact that he doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

“Have you been to the doctor?” Niall asks, when Harry shoves his lunch away from him without really having touched it. He shrugs, hoping that Niall isn’t going to press the subject. It’s usually pretty easy to distract him. Harry stretches his legs out in front of him on the low concrete steps of the amphitheatre. It’s getting colder now, and they’re not going to be able to eat lunch outdoors for much longer.

“Where are your boots?” Niall asks, kicking against Harry’s beaten up trainers.

Harry swallows around a lump in his throat, thinking again about the party, and about Louis. He thinks about the boots, tucked carefully in their box in his closet.

“Not ruining them by wearing them to class”, he mumbles. He’s not wearing them again until he can work out how to pay Niall back for them. Somehow. He’s not a gold digger.

He spends the afternoon at his computer applying for all the jobs he can find in the campus area that just require you to show up. His most promising lead is a check out clerk position at a gas station, working a shift from 4pm to 12am. He could manage that and still keep up with school. Probably.

He sighs and switches to the Netflix tab, signing into Niall’s account and collapsing back on his bed just as someone starts banging on the door. He gets up to open it, and finds Niall, who shoulders past him dropping a greasy-looking bag of take out on the desk and making himself comfortable in Harry’s spot.

Harry’s stomach turns at the smell of the food. “How did you even know I’d be here?” He’s supposed to be in class. He tries not to think the hit his attendance has been taking since this virus started kicking his ass.

“Do you have any other friends?” Niall retorts, dragging a half-eaten burger out of his own bag and stabbing at Harry’s laptop with the other hand.

“Fair point.” Harry sinks to his desk chair.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Harry concedes with a sigh.

“Have you been to the doctor?” Niall asks him this pretty much every time he sees him. Harry knows he already has the answer, but he gives his friend a rueful smile.

“I can’t, mate. Not until I get a job sorted. The on-campus doc is booked solid.”

He thinks for a second that Niall is going to protest, to force the money on him, but he gets a weird look on his face instead and shoves the laptop away and sits up, resting his elbow on his knees and looking at the floor.

“Look, Harry, we’ve known each other a long time, yeah? So you know I wouldn’t say this unless…” He trails off. It’s almost as if he’s...nervous?

Niall swings the laptop around to face Harry. Right at the top of the webMD page, the title stops Harry cold: _Signs and Symptoms of Pregnancy in Males_. “Harry, mate. Are you knocked up?”

Panic sweeps over Harry like a tidal wave. The whole world seems to shift underneath him, and the room feels fuzzy, like he’s trying to hear whatever Niall is saying underwater. Harry furiously scrolls through the web page. He ticks off symptoms right in a row, one after the other. His stomach lurches.

Niall gently pulls the computer away from him, his own eyes wide. He holds Harry’s hand in his. “It’s okay, man. Deep breaths, c’mon.”

Harry blinks at him. He has no idea what to say.

“Look. I’ll go to the drugstore, all right? I’ll get a test. I’ll get ten. You’ll pee on all the sticks and we’ll know this is bullshit, and then we’ll get you a real diagnosis, okay?” He squeezes Harry’s hand. “Okay?”

All Harry can do is nod.

Niall stands and squeezes his shoulder as he heads out the door, closing it softly behind him. Harry begins to pore over websites. Everything seems to add up. The only thing that doesn’t make any sense is that he and Louis always, _always_ used protection. He googles “condom failure rate”. Twelve percent. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick again.

He tries to force himself to calm down. He knows nothing yet. It could still be flu. He closes the computer and paces the small room.

Niall is taking way too long, so Harry calls him. Niall picks up on the first ring. “Look there were a few options, but I’m basically just buying them all.” He sounds out of breath. Harry can hear the sound of a clerk asking him questions muffled through the phone.

“It’s going to be fine, Niall. We’re over-reacting.” He figures if he says it out loud, and Niall agrees, then it must be true.

“Probably,” his friend says, but it sounds unconvincing. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Harry wishes to god he had a bathroom in his room and didn’t have to walk down a hallway. He feels far too vulnerable and raw to do this in a shared space. Niall seems to notice his discomfort and goes with him without being asked.

He stands in the stall reading over the direction packet that comes with the test. Niall has bought three different brands, and for one crazy minute Harry gets distracted wondering why there are so many. Is one better than the other? Why isn’t there a goddamn standard?! Niall leans against the door like an Irish guard dog, and he doesn’t even flinch when Harry hands him a stick, the plastic handle still damp with pee. Harry has to force himself to pee on the next two. His mind has become nothing but a mantra of _negative, negative, please god be negative_.

“Based on the way you usually look after sharing a bathroom stall, I thought this would be more fun.” The joke falls flat. Niall holds one test and Harry holds the other two. The tension is palpable.

“On three?” Harry asks, counting as if this was their usual rock, paper, scissors to decide who has to bus their trays after lunch. They both look at the sticks and then at each other.

 _Pregnant_.

Shit.

The only thing Harry can think is that it’s the first time that he’s ever seen Niall genuinely speechless. His head falls back against the wall of the stall. Harry tries to think of things that would be worse than this, and can’t. Apocalypse. That’s basically all he can come up with. If they left this bathroom and were attacked by zombies, that would be worse.

Fuck.

Niall rubs at his eyes, and hums uncomfortably, trying to regroup. “Okay. Okay, we need a plan. We need…” He’s drowned out by the sound of Harry throwing up, again.

Niall helps him clean up and throw out the tests, and then basically tucks him into bed back in his room like he was a toddler with a fever. “Do you want me to call someone?” There’s a long silence between them. Niall knows only too well that the only person Harry’s been anywhere near this year is Louis. “Your...uh...Anne maybe?”

Harry shivers a little. Just the idea of calling his mom and admitting this with everything else she has going on right now is more than he can stand.

“No, it’s okay.”

Niall nods. “I’ll check on you later.”

Harry rolls toward the wall as Niall lets himself out, throwing an arm over his eyes. It’s too much to process all at once. He can’t be pregnant. He’s done everything right over the last few weeks. He stopped drinking. He’s been going to class. He’s getting a job, at a goddamned gas station. What kind of karma throws an unwanted pregnancy at him in response to that.

Part-way through counting back the days to work out when he last had sex with Louis, Harry falls asleep.

~*~

Harry moves through the next week in a daze. He barely sees Jeff, who seems to have adapted to Harry being in the room all the time by taking up with a sorority girl and disappearing. Niall hovers like a mother hen, bringing Harry food and class notes and frowning more than Harry’s seen in his lifetime. He doesn't ask Harry what he’s going to do, thankfully, because Harry has no fucking clue.

He calls his mom a couple of times but can't bring himself to tell her. Their conversations end up stilted and one-sided as he listens to her stories about work and his stepfather’s chemo treatments. He keeps opening his mouth to interrupt, but the words get lodged in his throat.

On Friday, he gets a call from the gas station, asking him to come in for an interview. Harry almost laughs. The manager makes it sound as serious as a job at an investment bank, but his credit card is maxed out and beggars can’t be choosers, so he forces himself to dress presentably and prints off a resume at the library. He hasn’t had the heart to tell his mom he needs money. Their insurance isn’t coming close to covering Robin’s chemo, and he knows that it’s touch and go whether they can hold on to the family home. College is a luxury, and if Harry wants to stay, he has to find a way to make this work for himself.

He takes the bus to the gas station, too tired of Niall’s fussing to ask him for a ride. The owner is an older man, who seems to like Harry right away, asking questions about whether he can manage the schedule and his studies. Harry doesn't let on that he's a little nervous about that. He certainly doesn’t tell him that he’s pregnant. The gas station is brightly lit, and well-stocked, and it doesn’t feel nearly as grim or cheap to be here as Harry feared. Maxwell offers him the job on the spot and he takes it.

On the bus ride back to campus, it starts to rain. Grey, autumn sleet that makes the roads shiny, and has Harry wishing he’d worn a coat.

He turns every possible option over in his mind for the thousandth time, and still can’t come up with a way to make any of this add up. He can’t afford to have a baby. There’s no way he could continue to live in the dorm, and he can’t conceive of how he could keep up with his studies. He’d have to take a deferral for a semester, at least. And then what? Work a gas station job as a single dad for the foreseeable future? Everything about that mental image depresses the fuck out of him.

And then there’s Louis.

They’ve never been friends. They’ve certainly never taken time to get to know each other beyond the physical. But he knows enough. He knows Louis would be _horrified_ by the idea of becoming a father like this. He doesn’t believe in monogamy, so he’s certainly not ready to tie himself to a casual hook-up for the rest of his life.

For the first time in days the answer seems clear. He can't do this right now. He wants to be a dad someday. He _will_ be a dad someday. But not now. Not like this.

By the time the bus pulls back into campus Harry has googled clinics on his phone, finding one in a town nearby, and decides he has to tell Niall. He'll need a ride and someone to help him afterwards.

Harry jogs back to the dorm, the rain plastering his hair to his neck, and making him feel cold and damp. He rifles through his closet for dry clothes, and accidentally knocks a shoebox off the shelf, where it spills at his feet. It’s a collection of things he brought from home last Christmas. Old family photos he doesn’t have digital copies of; a scrapbook from elementary school. He kneels to stack them back in the box. The picture on top is of him and Gemma at her sixth birthday party, surrounded by streamers and balloons. God, they’d had so much fun that day. It’s only now that he notices the meager pile of presents wrapped in newspaper in the background of the photo.

He remembers not really knowing that they didn’t have much when he was at elementary school. His mother always made birthdays and Christmases feel like giant celebrations, even when the gifts were often hand-made or second-hand. He hadn’t really understood what any of it meant until he was in high school and other kids sneered at his thrift store wardrobe. So Harry had embraced it, styling himself in increasingly eclectic outfits. Making his choices seem deliberate, rather than a function of circumstance. But it still stung.

Harry realizes for the first time that, in his mind, those kids and Louis are one and the same. Wielding their money and their disdain like casual weapons, never understanding the damage that they’re doing to those around them.

When Harry _does_ have a child, he wants to be able to give that baby the world. He never wants a child of his to want for anything.

Harry pins the photo to the board above his laptop, and calls the clinic for an appointment.

He drags Niall to a quieter spot in the dining hall that evening to explain his decision. Niall’s mouth forms a tight line, as if he’s trying to hold in whatever it is he might otherwise say.

“What?”

“It’s just,” Niall pauses, pushing the last of his food around his plate. “I mean, I don’t want to tell you what to do. It’s absolutely your decision…”

“But?” Harry sighs, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. He hadn’t thought for a second that Niall would be anything other than one hundred percent supportive.

Niall still doesn’t look up, as if making eye contact is a struggle right now. “I think you need to talk to Louis, mate.”

Harry slumps back in his chair, crossing his arms. “No.”

Niall glances up, then, his expression sad. “He could help, Harry. He’s about to graduate. He’s from a good family. I mean, on his mother’s side, his dad’s an asshole…”

Harry stores away the fact that Niall knows even this much about Louis’ family.

“That’s exactly why I can’t tell him, Niall. He’ll think I’m just after money. He doesn’t want to be tied down, he doesn’t want kids. So the only upside in telling him is getting money for the... And I don’t…” He was about to say he didn’t need it, but of course he does. It’s just that he doesn’t want Louis paying for it. Or Niall, for that matter. Like paying for a cleaner to mop up Harry’s vomit. Harry’s going to take care of this mistake himself; he has a shred of dignity left.

Niall shakes his head resignedly. “That’s fucked up logic, man. It’s still his baby.”

Harry scowls, pushing his plate away from him. He’s lost his appetite. “It’s not a baby; not yet. And it’s my decision.”

Niall runs a hand through his hair, and studies Harry, his expression concerned, but after a moment his features soften. “Yeah, I mean. You know I’ll support you. Whatever you need, whatever you decide.”

~*~

A week later, and Harry’s cashed his first paycheck. The money feels like it’s burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans. There are so many things he should be spending it on besides this. It feels so unfair. Niall pulls his car over in front of the dorm, and Harry tugs his scarf tighter around his neck as he climbs in. He tugs out a twenty and offers it Niall.

“What the fuck is that?”

“For gas,” Harry says, trying to push the note at him. “Come on, man. You’re doing me a massive favor.”

Niall just rolls his eyes and tucks the note back in Harry’s coat pocket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Neither of them say anything else as they head out of campus and away from the outskirts of town. The GPS sounds unnaturally loud in the silent car, and so Harry starts to fiddle with the radio.

Niall is the first one to crack. “It is definitely Louis’, right? I mean, there wasn’t anyone else?” He sounds almost embarrassed to be asking.

Harry looks out the window at the scrubby grass and thinning trees bordering the highway, starting to look skeletal and wintery.

“Yeah, it’s his. We always used protection, but I guess...I guess I’m just unlucky.”

He looks back at Niall’s profile. His friend doesn’t say anything, but his jaw seems tight, eyes fixed on the road.

Harry looks back out the passenger window. His eyes prickle and his face flushes. He didn’t really think it would feel like this, like something big and ugly is gnawing away at his insides. The tears seem inescapable now. He tries not to sniffle, hoping that Niall won’t stop the car or make it a big deal, but his friend just turns up the volume on some awful country song and stoically pretends nothing is happening for the remainder of the twenty minute drive.

They park in a side street across from the clinic. Niall kills the engine, and Harry starts to cry harder, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve, his breath coming in little gasps.

Niall digs into his glove compartment and produces a clutch of McDonalds napkins. Harry takes them gratefully, blowing his nose and trying to calm down.

“I’m so scared,” he manages, finally, and Niall immediately tugs him across the console into a tight, awkward hug. Harry weeps into his shoulder.

“Mate, you don’t have to decide this right now if you’re not ready. You have some time.” Niall pulls back, his hands on Harry’s shoulders, letting him collect himself.

Harry pulls the photo of him and Gemma from his jacket pocket and sniffles. The picture has been an anchor the last couple of days. Proof positive that he was doing the right thing, and that his time for fatherhood would be in the future, when he had a career and a husband and could give his children a comfortable life. Something more than he had had.

But when he looks at it now, hands shaking, it’s a completely different picture. He doesn’t see two kids in second-hand clothes, but two kids who had a loving, caring mom who always made sure they were happy. The photo suddenly makes him feel confused and alone.

Niall rubs Harry’s back and shoulder gently, trying to comfort him.

“I’m serious, Harry. If you’re this upset maybe you should take another couple of days. We can always get you another appointment. I’ll bring you back here any time you want me to. I’m always going to have your back.” Niall points at the photo in his lap. “And so’s Gemma, and your mom.”

Harry feels calmer, sucking in a rattling breath, and wiping again at his nose. He looks up at Niall with shining honest eyes. “I’m scared to do this alone.”

He doesn’t explain that he’s no longer talking about crossing the street to the low, brick building with the heavy wooden doors, but somehow Niall seems to understand anyway.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Harry. You’ve been holding this all inside and trying to cope all by yourself since you found out, but you don’t need to! You’ve got people all around you, who love you and care for you. If you decide to be a dad, you’re not going to be by yourself, I promise.”

Harry and Niall look at the clinic, as a young couple head inside, clutching each other’s hands tightly. Harry tries to pull himself together. He looks down at the photo again, tracing its curling edge with a finger.

He knows, all of a sudden, and his mind is clear for the first time in weeks.

“Let’s go back to campus.”

He can’t be sure, but Harry feels like Niall smiles a little at this, though he quickly schools his expression into something more neutral. “Tacos on the way back, though, right? We need to feed you up if you’re gonna be eating for two.”

Harry feels lighter. Like the stress and anxiety and the nausea has lifted, if only for now. He squeezes Niall’s arm quickly in gratitude, and says, “With extra guac.”

~*~

Jeff’s not in their room when Harry gets back, and he’s grateful, not ready to say anything yet. The pregnancy feels like something fragile. Something to be protected. Harry has to work out how to do this for himself before he starts to involve anyone else. Anyone, that is, other than his family. He can’t put that off any longer.

He works up the courage to call his mother when he only has about ten minutes before he needs to leave to catch the bus for his shift at the gas station.

“You okay, baby?” she asks, used to hearing from him on the weekends.

He bites at his lip, trying to form the sentences he’s practiced in the mirror.

“Mom, something happened. But I want you to know that I’m taking care of it. I’m not...I’m not calling because I need help.”

There’s an awkward silence on the line. Harry realizes that sounds alarming. Like he’s phoning her from prison or something. He needs to just spit it out, like ripping off a bandaid. “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

“Harry!” she whispers, and it sounds almost reverent. There’s no hint of reproach in her voice. “That’s...big news.”

He wants to cry, again. Most of all he wants to see her. He wishes that he had the money, and the time, to get home. To bound up the steps to the porch, hear his mom’s favorite jazz music spilling through the screen door, the smell of baking or pot roast welcoming him. Instead he shrugs into his bright red uniform shirt, the phone tucked against his shoulder as he buttons it up.

“It was an accident, mom. I’m not...I’m not with the father.”

He waits for her to sound disappointed. _He’s_ disappointed. This isn’t what he wanted for himself. But his mom has always been the one to find a silver lining, for as long as he can remember.

“Well, we’re going to make it work, Harry. You have a baby to think about now. Robin and I will transfer some money into your account tomorrow. Are you eating okay? Has the doctor got you on prenatal vitamins?”

Harry chokes on a sob, squeezing his eyes tightly closed.

“Mom, no. It’s… _I’m_ going to make this work. I have a job now, and you need to focus on Robin at the moment. I’m going to be okay.” He figures if he says it out loud often enough, he’ll come to believe it.

He hears her huff a small, amused sigh. “Harry, we can argue about it at Christmas. Right now, you have to focus on taking care of yourself. I don’t want you working too hard, stress isn’t good for the baby.”

Harry pulls his hair up in a loose knot, and shrugs into his jacket. He’s going to be late if he doesn’t get a move on. “I know, mom. I’m … doing what I need to.” _Or I will be_ , he thinks, now that he’s decided this is for real.

“And the other dad, Harry? How does he feel about all of this?”

Harry shoulders his backpack, locking his door with the phone pressed to his ear, thinking about how to answer.

“This isn’t something he wants,” he manages, finally, taking the steps to the ground floor two at a time.

His mother makes a small noise, which might be disapproval. It’s hard to tell.

“Mom...I…” he pushes out into the crisp air, jogging to meet the bus as it pulls into the stop in front of his dorm. “I gotta get to work. I love you. I’ll call you again on the weekend.”

“I love you too, darling. This is really wonderful news.”

And for the first time, Harry almost believes it.

On his break at work that evening, he searches the internet for doctors in the area specializing in male pregnancies. He makes the appointment for after his economics class on Friday, knowing without asking that Niall will want to take him.

The waiting room is brightly lit, with comfortable furniture, live potted plants and magazines that were all published in the last month. It looks expensive, and that makes Harry’s skin itch, even knowing that his bank balance is a little healthier, thanks to his mom. There is one other couple in the room as they enter, filling out paperwork on a clipboard. They’re laughing and kissing one another, holding hands over the pregnant man’s belly. They look happy. They look the way expectant dads should look. Harry glances at Niall, slumped beside him eating a cookie messily and tapping away on his phone. Niall smiles at him with cookie between his teeth, completely oblivious. Harry tries not to sigh.

“Mr Styles? Come on through.”

The doctor is a short, plump woman in her forties, with blunt, bobbed dark hair. She has a kind face, and Harry warms to her immediately. She seems unfazed at Harry’s rambling explanation that Niall is not the other father, and doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable as she runs through a barrage of questions about his morning sickness, and his diet, and how he’s been sleeping.

“You’re at thirteen weeks, so the sickness should start easing now, but let’s keep an eye on that. I’m a bit worried about your college meals having enough nutrients, so we’re going to give you plenty of vitamins.”

Thirteen weeks. Harry can’t believe it’s been that long. The months since he last hooked up with Louis have felt stretchy and fluid; a terrible combination of illness and exhaustion and worry making the days fly by.

“Now, hop up on the bed, and let’s take a look at your baby, shall we?”

“Really?” Niall perks up immediately. “We get to see?”

Doctor Mason gives a bright laugh, and nods, washing her hands at the sink against the wall as Harry climbs up on the examination table, feeling ungainly. He lifts his t-shirt. His stomach looks rounder. Not protruding, not really, but like he’s stuffed himself with food at repeated thanksgivings. The waistband of his jeans has started leaving a mark. _God_ , he thinks, _new clothes_. More things he can’t afford.

The gel feels cold against as his skin, but before he can start to think about how bizarre this all is, the sound of the ultrasound fills the room.

“Holy shit,” Niall breathes in awe, pushing his glasses up on his head to stare closer at the grainy picture on the screen. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Doctor Mason chuckles, pressing on Niall’s arm to move him gently out of the way so that she can see the screen more clearly. “It’s too early to tell at this stage, but, Harry, everything else is looking good.”

She hangs up the wand and gives Harry tissues to wipe off his stomach. She prints off the picture of the ultrasound, and slips it into an envelope for him. “First family photo,” she says with a kind smile, as Harry takes it from her. His stomach sinks. Even as Niall bounces on the balls of his feet, clapping Harry on the back as they walk back to the car, rambling excitedly about how _fucking amazing_ it all is, Harry just feels tired and very alone.

Niall hesitates as he goes to start the car.

“Harry, you need to tell him.” He rolls his eyes at Harry’s immediate huff of protest. “I’m serious, mate. Seeing that, in there. Hearing the heartbeat. This is real now. You can’t…”

“It’s _been_ real for weeks now. It’s been _real_ every time I’ve had my head stuck in a toilet. It was _real_ when I had to tell my mother I was knocked up, Niall. It was also real when Louis called some girl a _gold digger_ right in front of me. I’m not ruining his life as well as mine. This isn’t something he wants. And the _last_ fucking thing I need is him thinking I want anything from him.”

Niall rubs at the back of his neck in frustration, and Harry can see him thinking about ways to rephrase his argument, before eventually shaking his head and fastening his seat belt in silence.

Harry stares out the passenger window all the way back to campus, and says nothing, the sonogram burning a hole in his pocket.

When he gets back to his room, Jeff is sprawled across his bed surrounded by class notes, and Harry can’t help but think about how far behind he must be getting in his courses. Now that the morning sickness is easing, he really needs to work to catch up.

Jeff looks up as he comes in, sinking to the edge of his own bed, the envelope like a hot coal in his hands.

“You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It feels too much, all of a sudden. Hot tears slide down Harry’s cheeks. Jeff looks shocked, sitting up immediately and crossing the room to throw an awkward arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Dude, what is it? Are you really sick? Is that what the doc said?”

Harry lets out a small, humorless laugh. “I’m not dying,” he sniffs, wiping at his eyes and handing Jeff the envelope.

His roommate slips out the picture and stares at it for a second.

“Shit. You got someone pregnant?! But I thought you…” Then he stares at Harry with wide eyes as the realization sets in. “Oh, fuck. _That’s_ why you’ve been so sick.”

Harry slumps back against the wall with a groan.

“What are you going to do?”

Harry’s eyes slip closed. He tries to imagine what the next few months will be like, but to be honest he can’t even imagine the next couple of days. Even getting dressed for his shift at the gas station feels impossible right now. He doesn’t answer.

Jeff squeezes his hand briefly. “Whatever I can do to help, man. Just say the word. Notes from classes, or like...I don’t know. Pickles and ice cream runs? That’s a pregnant thing, right? I can do that. Do you want pickles?”

Harry laughs properly at that, sitting up to drag Jeff into a clumsy side hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I’m going to be okay. It’s just a lot, you know?”

“Fuck, yeah it is.” Jeff says, looking at Harry’s stomach with an awed expression.

~*~

Over the next few weeks, Harry manages to get into something of a routine. Now that’s he’s not vomiting every morning, he feels less tired and washed out. The vitamins start to help as well, and he spends a long time agonizing over the options in the cafeteria each day trying to pick the healthiest choices he can. Niall orders him all the pregnancy books he can find on Amazon without asking, and Harry comes back to his dorm one afternoon to find Jeff buried in a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

“Dude. Did you know you get heartburn because the baby has _hair_?! That’s _disgusting_.”

Harry can’t really disagree.

He goes to work straight from class, and spends the evenings mopping out the gas station restrooms and restocking sodas in the refrigerators. Max likes him, because Harry works hard and doesn’t complain, and so most nights he heads home early and lets Harry close up.

When Harry reaches 20 weeks and his lower back is starting to ache a little, the mopping is extra tough. It’s a Thursday, and he’s forgotten that Max is still out back in the little office, finishing the month-end paperwork. It’s startling, then, when he arches into a backbend, trying to get a little relief and hears a whispered curse and the sound of a clipboard clattering to the floor. He whirls around to find Max staring at him slack-jawed, taking in the way Harry’s hands are pressed to his back, and his stomach is straining at the buttons of his uniform shirt.

Harry’s hands fly to his abdomen, hunching a little to make it seem less obvious on instinct, even though the cat is clearly now out of the bag.

“How far along?” Max asks quietly, his expression serious.

“Halfway,” Harry murmurs, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I was going to tell you soon, but I…”

Max waves a dismissive hand. “You can’t be working all the hours God gave you in that state, Harry. Where is this baby’s father? Why isn’t he looking after you?”

Harry realizes with a start that Max’s profound look of disapproval isn’t aimed at him and the baby at all.

“He’s not…” Harry wants to say he’s not around, but he knows that’s not really fair. It’s been months since Harry last saw Louis, but it’s been a concerted campaign on Harry’s part to make that happen, sticking closely to the dorm and his classes, and to the gas station. Never venturing out anywhere where they might bump into each other accidentally. He knows that Niall and Louis are still hanging out regularly, but he trusts Niall with his life. He won’t say anything.

“He’s not what?” Max interrupts his thoughts, his tone stern. “Not man enough to face up to his responsibilities?”

“It’s not like that,” Harry mumbles, stuffing the mop back in the bucket and taking it out back to put away in the cleaning closet.

When he comes out, Max is behind the till, tucking a few bills in an envelope. He thrusts it into Harry’s hands, closing his own around them when Harry tries to protest. “You’ve got a job here as long as you can manage it, kid. But you have to promise me you’ll put your health first.” Max’s eyes are kind, and without a trace of pity. Harry wants to hug him, but instead he draws back and tucks the money in his back pocket. “Thank you,” he manages, finally, his voice thick with unexpected emotion, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

“Get on home, Harry. I’ll close up tonight. Get a heat pack on that back of yours.”

Harry’s not sure if it’s the hormones, but he shrugs into his jacket and heads for the bus before he can cry. Again.

As he’s dressing the next day, he can see that there isn’t really any hiding it any more. Even his loosest shirts are now doing nothing to disguise his swelling form, and he’s had to trade his heeled boots for trainers that don’t cause his bloated ankles to ache quite so much.

People in his classes don’t even try to hide their stares, and he feels desperately self-conscious. Like they’re judging him for failing somehow. It’s not like he can wear a sign around his neck that says: _Yes, I used protection. No, it didn’t work_ , but god, some days he wants to.

And now, he really understands what it means when people joke about eating for two, because he’s become ravenous at all hours of the day. He’s even taken Jeff up twice on the ice cream and pickles.

Luckily, with a bottomless pit like Niall for a friend, Harry always has someone willing to eat with him, whatever the time of day. And food is the perfect way for Niall to feel like he’s taking care of Harry, plying him with boxes of protein bars to keep in his room, and dragging him out for waffles for breakfast, fried chicken for lunch, pie at midnight.

So it’s not really a surprise when Harry wakes one Saturday morning to find Niall shoving at his leg. “Pancakes, Harry. With maple syrup and blueberries and cream and bacon and bananas and whatever else pancakes come with.”

Just the words make Harry so hungry he could gnaw off a limb, and so he swings out of bed awkwardly and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. His jeans no longer fit, but Gemma promised to take him to an outlet mall with a paternity wear store at Christmas, so he won’t have to spend the next three months dressing like a jock or a hobo. “You’ll be a pretty, pretty princess again, I promise,” she teased, rolling her eyes at him fondly over Skype.

He shoves his feet into his shoes, and pulls a baggy school hoodie over his head, tugging it down over his belly. “Holy shit!”

Niall looks back from the door. “You okay?”

Harry grabs at Niall’s wrist, pressing his hand to his stomach, where, unmistakably, the baby kicks again. Niall gasps, blinking up at Harry in awe. “Fuck.”

“Right?” Harry laughs, feeling overwhelmed, and like his heart is rabbiting too fast in his chest. He’s been able to feel the little bean moving around for a few weeks now, but this is different. This seems momentous. His baby is making itself known.

“All the more reason for pancakes then, come on.” Niall grins widely, ushering Harry out the door.

He takes Harry to a diner on the outskirts of town, somewhere they haven’t been before, but where Niall swears the pancakes will ‘melt his brain’. The diner seems ordinary enough, so Harry’s less convinced, but he slides into a booth and buries his nose in the menu all the same.

“See, this is where we sort the wheat from the chaff. Do you have bacon or sausage with a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes? Consider your answer carefully, Styles. I don’t want to have to disown you.”

Harry’s about to answer _both_ because his stomach is rumbling, and also, _obviously_ , but then he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months.

Time slows down, as he swivels in his seat to look over his shoulder, and confirm that yes, all of his nightmares have come true at once, and Louis is in a booth against the opposite wall, with Liam and Zayn.

Louis looks relaxed and happy, his head tipping back as he laughs at something Liam is saying, exposing the tanned lines of his neck and jaw. Something twists inside Harry at the unfairness of it all. That Louis can be here, enjoying himself without a care in the world, while Harry tries to do the impossible by himself. And he knows he _chose_ this, but he also knows that the outcome would have been the same either way. He slumps further in his seat, trying to disappear, and kicks at Niall’s shin.

Niall looks across the diner at the other table. Harry’s expecting him to be as shocked as he is, to offer some sort of strategy for getting them out of here through the kitchen, like in a heist movie, before Louis sees them. But, on the contrary, Niall just looks back at his menu and avoids making eye contact.

“Niall??” Harry stage whispers, incredulous. There’s no way, after weeks of looking after him, that he can believe Niall would have betrayed him like this. Not on purpose.

His friend twists at a napkin, and refuses to look up. “Someone had to do something,” he mumbles, finally, his tone unrepentant. Luckily for Niall, the waitress arrives before Harry can work out how to disembowel him with a ketchup bottle and a napkin dispenser.

He doesn’t want to order. But he also can’t leave, because as soon as he stands, Louis is going to see him, and then he’s going to _know_.

Niall orders for both of them, seemingly unconcerned at the way Harry is trying to kill him with nothing but the power of his death stare. “You should go talk to him.”

Harry kicks him in the shin again, because he can. He refuses to look over, because if he makes eye contact with Louis, he’s not sure what will happen.

Their order arrives, but Harry isn’t hungry anymore. The pancakes taste like sawdust, and his mind races with how to get himself out of this situation and back to the safety of his dorm room. Niall seems content to silently stuff his face with his order and most of Harry’s, continuing to nudge Harry’s knee under the table, as if that will make him change his mind and cross the room. He considers stabbing Niall with his fork, but he’s distracted by the sound of Louis laughing behind him, and it makes his heart ache.

He asks the waitress for the check.

“No need, sugar,” she says with a smile, clearing his plate as Niall snatches the last piece of bacon off it. “That cutie with the tattoos over there paid it for you.”

Blood pounds in Harry’s ears. He gets to his feet abruptly, determined to give Louis a piece of his mind. He’s not a fucking _charity case_. It’s one thing for Niall to buy him meals. They’ve known each other for years, but he hasn’t seen Louis in _months_. He’s frustrated and annoyed, and definitely not thinking clearly, because he’s taken several steps towards Louis’ booth with a scowl on his face before everything clicks into place and he realizes what he’s done. Louis, Liam and Zayn are all staring. Zayn immediately throws an arm around Louis, wrapping a protective hand around his neck and drawing him closer. He lowers his voice, but Harry is close enough to hear him say, “Bro, did you guys…” He trails off, looking from Harry’s stomach to Louis’ shocked expression. Louis, on the other hand is staring right into Harry’s eyes. His expression is disbelieving, but he arches one sharp eyebrow in a question for just a second. Harry looks at him, his toned arms bare in a sleeveless black shirt, his unshaven jaw line sharp and gorgeous. Harry’s mouth is dry. He breaks eye contact and drops his head, his face flushing.

He hears Louis say quietly, “No, mate. I keep it wrapped.”

Harry glances up with a start, drawing in a breath to say something, but he’s brought up short by Louis’ expression. Louis looks...he looks disappointed. Crushed, actually. Harry can feel the blush spread down his neck. The words die in his mouth.

Louis’ expression twists, becoming something a little uglier. More haughty. “Look, don’t sweat it, mate," Louis says. "It’s not like we were exclusive. You certainly weren’t the only guy I was fucking.”

The baby takes that moment to give Harry another sharp little kick, and his hand flies to his stomach. Louis’ eyes widen for a split second. A wave of nausea passes over Harry, and he turns on his heel and pushes past Niall and out into the fresh air.

He stalks to the car with Niall hot on his heels. “What in the actual fuck, man.”

“Unlock the goddamn car, Niall. You’re already dead to me, you don’t get to say anything else.”

Niall has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Yeah, well that didn’t go quite the way I imagined.”

Harry snorts in disbelief, sinking into the passenger seat. “My life isn’t a fucking romcom, you leprechaun. Drop me at the library. I need to salvage something from today.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry spends the afternoon catching up on his economics readings, finally feeling like he might be ready for the end of term exams.

He digs his phone out of his backpack to check the time, and is stunned to see that he has a text from Louis.

_You left before I had the chance to say congratulations._

Harry stares at the message, wondering for a horrible moment if Louis is being sarcastic. But he decides against it. Louis is sharp, careless sometimes, but never cruel to Harry.

He thinks about how to respond. A part of him still wants to explain - to tell Louis everything, to stop carrying this secret around, heavier even than his growing belly. He starts to type, but erases each attempt immediately.

In the end he settles for a simple _Thank you_.

Louis’ response blinks up immediately.

_That was a lot of typing for a thank you ;)_

Harry smiles in spite of himself.

_I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the pancakes._

This time it’s Louis who seems to be typing for an eternity. Harry stares at the dots flashing on his screen, and then disappearing.

_You gonna watch the game at Niall’s this weekend?_

It’s such a strange non sequitur. And so unlike Louis, who has never once suggested that he and Harry do anything together while the sun is up. Harry didn’t even realize Niall was having people over to the house, but he’s been so busy avoiding Louis that he hasn’t exactly been socializing lately. Suddenly that seems crazy. Whatever he’s been avoiding, it’s as if the worst has happened now. Louis knows he’s pregnant, and he doesn’t think the baby is his. Now Harry can get on with his life. Just like he wanted.

He wished it didn’t make his chest feel quite so tight.

No harm, he thinks. Niall would be delighted if Harry did something other than scuttle from his dorm to class and back again. It doesn’t have anything to do with Louis. Probably.

_Yeah. See you there?_

Louis sends him back an emoji fistbump. It shouldn’t make Harry grin as softly as it does.

Harry’s right, Niall is basically ecstatic when Harry turns up at the house with a giant bag of off-brand corn chips on Saturday afternoon. He pulls Harry into a hug, increasingly difficult around Harry’s growing size. “I’m sorry for meddling,” he mumbles into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry pulls back and shoves at his chest fondly. “Don’t do it again. I’m sorry I didn’t bring any beer, but you know...” He waves at his stomach, trying not to think about the fact that even if he were able to drink, beer is about the last thing he could afford.

Niall smiles, glad to be forgiven, and tugs Harry into the lounge, evicting one of his housemates from an armchair so that he can install Harry. “‘S’got a fucking baby on board, hasn’t he? You can sit on the damn floor.” Harry doesn’t like to point out that the floor would almost be better for his back than the sagging armchair, but he sinks into it anyway, and figures he’ll worry about getting up when he needs to pee. Which is likely to be any minute now, if today has been anything to go by. Niall’s housemates are happy to see him, making off-color jokes about whether he can still see his dick, and placing hands on his tummy to feel the baby, who seems to be responding to all the attention with a particularly active bout of kicking.

“She knows it’s game day,” Niall says, as the little bean gives Harry a boot right under his palm.

“She?” a familiar voice asks from the door. “You’re having a girl?” Louis has a six pack of beer dangling from one finger, and a grocery sack full of snacks balanced on his hip. His hair is soft and unstyled, collapsing across one eye. Harry very much wants to touch it. His hormones are clearly out of control.

“I don’t want to find out,” Harry says. “There are too few surprises left in the world. Niall’s just convinced himself.”

“I’ll give you three-to-one odds,” Niall announces, snagging the bag of food away from Louis, who gives Harry a look that’s hard to read, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns a moment later, passing a beer to Liam, and clutching one for himself. As he weaves behind two of the guys already sprawled on the floor, he holds out a coconut water to Harry. Harry takes it, glancing up in surprise, but Louis doesn’t say anything or even look at him, really, just proceeds to squeeze on to the end of the beaten up sofa and concentrates on the television screen.

And it feels...easy. Being back around people socially for the first time in weeks feels comforting. Even Louis being in the room isn’t nearly as awkward as he’d feared. And when it takes both Liam and Niall tugging on his arms to help Harry back to his feet, he’s the first one to collapse in giggles. It feels good.

Even Gemma notices, when he Skypes her the following day.

“You look different,” she says, leaning into the camera and peering at him suspiciously.

“I’m fatter,” Harry laughs, stretching his hoodie tight over his belly and rubbing at it to show her.

“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant. And that’s not what I mean. You’re happier.”

Harry tugs at one of the strings of his hood, considering it for a second. “I guess, yeah. I’m feeling better. Less sick.”

Gem wrinkles her nose, as if that explanation is unsatisfactory. “Whatever, fatty. When are you moving?”

Harry’s application to move into family housing has been approved, and though he can only afford a one bedroom apartment, it’s still the best option available to him for now. He’d started out by suggesting to his mom that he take a semester off and move home to save money, but she wouldn’t hear of it. They’d investigated subsidized housing and childcare, and worked out together how to make his schedule bearable in the months after his due date. Harry’s not ashamed to admit he’d wept a little with gratitude. It felt like a weight being lifted.

“Next weekend. I’m going to get Niall and some of his mates to help me.” It’s not like he has a lot of stuff, but given that he’s big enough that even carrying his textbooks is currently a pain, it doesn’t seem like something he can manage on his own.

His phone buzzes against his leg.

_What do people even do on Sundays when they don’t have hangovers?_

It’s from Louis. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. As he’d left Niall’s the night before Liam had been trying to convince Louis to head out to a club, but Louis had seemed disinterested, yawning about how the whole campus scene was ‘tired’.

He zones out on Gemma for a second as he taps a reply.

_Go to church, heathen._

“Who is he?”

Harry looks up with a start. Gemma’s smirking at him through the screen. “What? It’s just Louis.”

“And Just Louis is....?” She’s still smirking. Harry’s breath catches. He’s not ready for this conversation at all.

“Nobody. He’s…” _My ex-hookup. Baby daddy. Unfeasibly hot._ “He’s a mate of Niall’s.” He tries to settle for the most innocuous description he can think of, but he finds himself stammering. Gemma’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Harry’s always found it impossible to keep anything from his sister

“We used to...uh...you know. But it was a long time ago.” _Long enough,_ Harry thinks.

“He’s helping you move?” Gemma asks, seemingly deterred. And Harry hadn’t thought of that, but suddenly the idea of Louis’ biceps flexing as he lifts boxes, his hair a little damp with sweat, has Harry’s face flushed and his hoodie feeling too tight.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m going to go, Gem. My shift starts soon.”

She blows him a smacking kiss through the camera. “See you soon, fatty. Look after that little bean.”

He dresses for work and checks his phone for Louis’ reply as he lumbers down the stairs to the bus.

_I’ll consider this pile of bacon a religious experience and call it a day._

Harry doesn’t text him back, but even Max comments on the smile he has on for the rest of the day.

Louis continues to text him throughout the week. Harry’s not really sure why he keeps replying. It seems like it would be better for everyone involved if he managed to keep keep up his no-contact rule. It might be the hormones. But it also turns out he’s missed Louis’ snarky sense of humor and, truth be told, Harry’s enjoying getting to know the person he is away from the bars and the tequila shots. Harry is tired of feeling like he is pretty much alone, and now that he’s not avoiding Louis, he finds himself around people a lot more. Perched on a bench under a tree watching Niall and Liam play football; leaving the library a little earlier to watch Game of Thrones with Jeff and his girlfriend. And, inexplicably, texting with the father of his unborn child.

_My littlest sister now officially knows more Spanish than I do, thanks Dora the Explorer._

Harry stares at the screen, interrupted from stuffing athletic gear he no longer fits into the bottom of a carton. He realizes that he didn’t have any idea Louis had siblings.

_Littlest?_

_Of five. And one little brother. Crazy, I know. It was a trip growing up. I basically helped raise them, because my mom was on her own._

Harry sinks to his bed. Nothing about this computes with the Louis he remembers from six months ago.

_I thought you hated kids. You swore sideways you never wanted any of your own._

Harry remembers that conversation vividly. It punched a hole in his chest at the time - yet another confirmation that Louis was not the man of his dreams, no matter how weak he made Harry at the knees.

Louis sends back a laughing emoji. _Really? I must have been drunk that night. I fucking love kids. Just don’t ever see myself staying with anyone long enough to make that work._

Harry exhales shakily, hand coming to rest on his abdomen without really thinking. He throws his phone on the pillow and goes back to packing. He can cope with most things today, but Louis unravelling his assumptions isn’t one of them.

~*~

On his last night in his dorm room, Jeff orders in a pizza, and they watch a crappy disaster movie starring the Rock.

“Not gonna be the same without you, dude.”

“You’ll enjoy it more than you would a screaming newborn,” Harry laughs. “But thanks. You know, for looking out for me the last few weeks. For not being a judgmental douche about everything.”

Jeff shrugs. “Hey, it’s your life, man. But for what it’s worth? The dad’s a fucking idiot for not wanting to be involved. You’re gonna be an amazing parent.”

Harry ducks his head and sighs.

His phone takes that opportunity to vibrate on his desk, and he’s unsurprised to find it’s Louis. Most of his messages now are from Louis.

_Are you packed?_

_Yeah. All set._

_Need a hand tomorrow? Niall said he was coming over._

Harry bites at his lip. Even though they’ve been texting all week, he hasn’t asked Louis to help him move. It seemed like a step further than he was ready for, to actually suggest that they hang out, even on the pretext of needing a favor. But now it’s Louis that’s suggesting it, and he’s continually proving himself to be so unlike the selfish picture that Harry’s been carrying around of him in his head that Harry feels unmoored. He’s not sure what to do.

_Yeah, if you’re free? There’s not much, but many hands or whatever._

He watches the screen, waiting for the response.

_Zayn and Liam are legit fighting right now about who is richer out of Batman and Iron Man. I’m friends with idiots._

It’s not an answer. Harry continues to worry his lower lip between his teeth. He realizes that this tight feeling in his chest isn’t going away until he’s honest with Louis. He needs to tell him the truth. He lets his head fall back against the wall, staring up at the grey, institutional ceiling. He decides, then and there, that if Louis comes over tomorrow to help, he’ll tell him about the baby.

Harry taps out a reply.

_Tell them they’re both wrong. It’s Black Panther. He rules Wakanda, which has the stuff Captain America's shield is made of. It’s worth a fortune._

He can do this. He can come clean. He doesn’t need anything from Louis now, and Louis will be able to see that. He can tell him.

_Shit, Styles. I think you just blew their minds. Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow._

Well, maybe he can tell him. If this bout of nerves ever subsides.

The next day the temperature drops to positively icy, and it makes Harry’s nose red and his cheeks hurt as he and Niall stack his boxes outside and wait for Louis to pull around.

Harry was surprised and pleased when Niall said they were going to use Louis’ car, but when the sleek black SUV pulls up at the curb, his mood deflates rapidly. Zayn is sitting in the passenger seat, brooding like a fashion model behind a pair of aviators. Niall perks up right away, but all Harry can think is that there’s no way he can speak to Louis when Zayn’s around.

When Louis opens the trunk and shoves a couple of high-end shopping bags to one side to make space, Harry feels even worse. The car is expensive. Late model; leather seats. And the stores these bags come from are ones Harry wouldn’t feel comfortable setting foot in. A month of his wages from the gas station might buy him a pair of socks from somewhere like that. It’s a jarring reminder that his world and Louis’ really don’t overlap.

Niall and Louis carry Harry’s bags and boxes to the car, while Harry looks on, feeling helpless, and tugging his scarf tighter around his neck against the cold.

“Get in, babe,” Louis calls, his head buried in the back of the car rearranging things. “You’ll freeze your bollocks off out here.”

Harry stills for a moment. Louis hasn’t called him ‘babe’ since they stopped hooking up. But now it’s all Harry can hear, reverberating in his ears. _So fucking hot, babe. Look at you. Just like that, babe. God, the mouth on you._

Suddenly he feels as though his cheeks are red from more than the cold.

He pulls open the back door, and maneuvers himself in clumsily, the seat higher than he was expecting.

Niall clambers in the other side with ease and immediately leans over the centre console to greet Zayn, who barely looks up from his phone and seems completely disinterested. Harry struggles not to roll his eyes. Louis closes the trunk and gets behind the wheel, starting the car.

“Ignore Zayn. He’s in a pissy mood because he didn’t pull last night.” Louis pulls the car away from the dorm for the short drive across campus. Zayn still doesn’t look up from his phone as he flips Louis the bird, but out of the corner of Harry’s eye he sees Niall’s shit-eating grin and sighs. This day is not working out at all the way he’d hoped.

If anything, it gets worse when they arrive at the family housing complex. The apartment is cramped and drab, and looks like it was barely cleaned after the last occupant left. The mattress definitely bears several suspicious-looking stains.

“Did someone die in here?” Zayn asks, with a sniff, and immediately retreats to the poky balcony and lights a cigarette. Louis and Niall lug the boxes up the stairs for Harry, stacking them neatly against the living room wall, and hanging his clothes in the closet. Harry perches on the edge of the tiny sofa, feeling useless and uncomfortable. He kicks himself for thinking it was a good idea to let Louis see this, and he’s so embarrassed that Louis will finally understand how little he has. Living in a dorm room is one thing; that’s the college experience. But trying to make a home for a child in a depressing little cell block like this? That’s just pathetic.

He desperately wants them all to leave, before his hormones overtake him with tears again, but once the last load is in from the car, Niall calls for pizzas for their lunch, and Harry doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. He listlessly unpacks a couple of coffee mugs and his toaster oven in the kitchenette, while Niall and Louis argue about the results of last night’s game.

When the pizza arrives, Harry doesn’t miss the way Louis bounds to the door to pay for it, before Harry can even look for his wallet. It makes him shrivel up even further inside - confirmation that today has cemented Louis’ impression of his financial situation.

Zayn finally deigns to come back indoors, picking the olives off a slice of pizza and more or less ignoring them. Niall is completely undeterred, shoving his phone at Zayn until he takes it in surprise, finally pushing his sunglasses up on his head, and revealing his eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“Stick your number in it,” says Niall, as if that was obvious.

“Why?” Zayn’s eyes rake Niall up and down, as if trying to work out what the trick is.

“Got tickets to the premiere of Doctor Strange next Friday. We can drive to the city in the afternoon, grab a hotel for the night. Afterparty should be sick.” He says it like he’s just suggested they get a burger for lunch, not offered up Zayn’s dream date on a plate, and the shocked way Zayn’s jaw has fallen open and not closed yet suggests he’s succeeded where many before him have failed.

Harry looks at Louis, who has a bemused smile on his face, and wonders whether he was in on this plan. He clearly doesn’t care about Niall making a play for Zayn. Harry has to face it. Louis really doesn’t care about any of his conquests.

Not for the first time, he feels a little excluded from Niall and Louis’ friendship, and though he’s frequently told Niall that superhero films are for kids, he also feels a little raw that Niall would use a trip like this to get in Zayn’s pants, instead of to hang out with one of his oldest friends. Then he looks down at his belly. He’s forced to concede he’s not exactly film premiere afterparty material right now.

Zayn is still staring at Niall like he hung the stars, nodding in awe and entering his number in Niall’s phone. When he hands it back, Niall just slides it into his pocket and stuffs another slice of pizza in his mouth, like nothing has happened. Harry has to give him credit. The little bastard is slick.

As if needing to restore the social equilibrium, Zayn immediately gets to his feet and kicks at Louis ankle. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

Harry’s chest burns. He had this all planned. Before Zayn showed up he was going to engineer it so that Niall left first, and he and Louis could talk about the baby. But now, sitting there in his empty, depressing little apartment, eating the pizza that Louis has paid for, he can’t bring himself to say anything at all. Now that Louis’ has seen Harry’s future laid bare, he doubts he’ll even continue texting him. Not the way he’s getting to his feet and dusting off his designer jeans as if just sitting on the threadbare armchair might have given him fleas. Or worse.

“Can you drop me at the gym?” Niall asks, around yet another mouthful of double cheese pizza, and without a hint of irony. Louis nods, grabbing his keys and looking around the apartment one more time.

“Will you be okay unpacking everything?” he asks Harry, who struggles to his feet to see them off.

Harry wants to laugh. It’s a few boxes. His worldly possessions don’t make even a room this small seem crowded. But he nods, and mumbles his thanks as Louis trails the other two back down the stairs.

Harry closes the front door, and spends the next twenty minutes struggling to make up his bed, fighting to work around his stomach and stretch the fitted sheet over the tired looking mattress. When he finally succeeds, he doesn’t even bother with a pillow. He just lays down and lets the tears fall.

When Harry wakes the next morning he’s disoriented. His brain is fuzzy from sleeping too long, and the apartment is too quiet without Jeff snoring like a tractor on the other side of the room. He realizes he doesn’t have anything in the small refrigerator, and his stomach growls discontentedly. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday’s pizza.

Thinking about it makes Harry’s chest clench. He drags himself through a shower, and tugs his hair up into a wet knot. He pulls on sweatpants, and two hoodies because his coat no longer buttons and it’s nearing freezing outside.

The dining hall nearest to family housing is quiet. Harry misses Niall’s constant stream of conversation as he piles his tray with granola and fruit and yoghurt. He looks longingly at the coffee station, but finds a seat at an empty table instead and tugs out his phone.

_Have you picked a name?_

Harry’s spoon drops to his tray with a clatter. He was convinced after yesterday that the last person he would hear from would be Louis. But here is a text, first thing in the morning, and about the baby no less.

_Because I’m thinking if it’s a boy, you should call him Ignatius and then you can call him Iggy for short._

Harry lets out a wet laugh, swiping at his eyes. He can’t even be frustrated at the way tears continue to overwhelm him at the drop of a hat, because he’s so damn grateful that Louis is sending him stupid texts at eight in the morning.

_Iggy Styles?_

He sniffs into his sleeve as he watches Louis type.

Well, it would be better if his other father’s surname was Pop. But I’ll take what I can get.

Harry bites his lip. It’s the first time Louis has made even a passing reference to the baby’s father. A tiny part of him wants to seize the opportunity, and to have the conversation he’d wanted to have the day before. But it still sits like a heavy weight inside him. He’s not ready.

_And if it’s a girl?_

He figures a light response is the best one. He wants to keep Louis in his life, in whatever form that takes.

_It’s not going to be a girl._

Harry snorts. Someone has clearly taken Niall’s action. He tucks his phone in his pocket as he clears his tray, and tugs the ends of his hoodie down over his hands as he braves the cold back to his apartment. It will be okay, he thinks. If he can get through the next couple of weeks, and get home for Christmas, he thinks that he’ll be able to keep it together.

Over the coming days, he realizes that whatever fear he had that Louis would abandon him as a friend once he understood the extent of Harry’s situation was completely unfounded. If anything, Louis is more attentive: dropping Niall off with a bag of groceries on his way back from the gym; texting him at odd hours about tv shows he’s watching, or sending links to idiotic videos he’s found online.

It’s effortless, and natural. Louis doesn’t mention the baby again, and he doesn’t mention Harry’s apartment, or really anything that would make Harry uncomfortable. His messages are funny, and filled with emoji, and they make Harry smile in a way he hasn’t done in months. Which, unfortunately, Gemma notices.

“Seriously, Haz. Who is this guy?” she groans, when she realizes Harry has looked off camera at his phone for the third time during their call.

“Louis? He’s a friend,” Harry says, tossing his phone across the bed and making more of an effort to focus on his sister.

“Just a friend?” She arches an eyebrow at him, her look full of skepticism. “From memory, you two used to be regular.”

“Yes,” Harry sighs. “Just a friend. Look at me, I’m the size of a house. I’m not exactly dating.”

She humphs in disagreement. “You look gorgeous, Harry. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

He blows her theatrical kisses and disconnects the call. It’s getting late and he still has another chapter of his stats text to get through. His phone buzzes again, and he feels around under his pillow for it.

It’s a snap of a tray of tequila shots, with the text WISH U WERE HEEEERREEEEE over it. The picture disappears. Harry stares at Louis’ name on his screen. It twists something in Harry’s gut. The whole thing feels so contradictory: Louis is out on the town, drinking and getting up to god knows what, but still thinking about Harry enough to snapchat him.

He opens his textbook, but the numbers swim across the page.

His phone vibrates again.

_This bartender makes the worst old fashioneds i’ve ever tasted._

Harry’s mouth feels sour. He doesn’t want to hear about Louis’ night out. He wants soft, funny messages sent in the late hours when Louis is curled up with his laptop on his bed and thinking of Harry and, more importantly, alone.

He gives up on studying, and takes a long, hot shower. He takes extra time rubbing the body lotion Niall snagged from the hotel he stayed in with Zayn into his stretch marks. He resolutely ignores his phone. It’s only when he goes to plug it in as he’s getting into bed that he caves and looks at his messages. There are three from Louis.

_WHen do we stop having to hear pitbull?_

_If u dance wit a ginger is there a risk its contagious_

_VOLCANO BOWL!!!!_

Harry turns off his phone and tosses it on the bedside cabinet. He feels suddenly foolish for having thought that Louis had changed. Or that his relationship with Louis had changed. It’s clear he’s still the same hard-partying socialite he always was. Harry struggles to get comfortable, stuffing the thin institutional pillow between his knees, and rubbing at his lower back with his fist. He was crazy to think that he could tell Louis about the baby. There’s no way he’s ready to be a father, and Harry is not about to be the one to interrupt his good time. Let him dance with all the redheads he likes, Harry thinks morosely, as he drifts off to sleep.

~*~

He wakes the next day to a call from his mother.

“Robin and I don’t think you should take the bus home this weekend, Harry. It’s such a long way and you’ll be so uncomfortable.”

Harry sighs. They’ve had this argument several times. Robin wants to wire him the money to hire a car, shortening the journey from four hours on the Greyhound to about ninety minutes, but Harry is adamant.

“It’s a stupid waste of money, mom. We need to focus on the important things. I started to make a list of stuff the baby needs, and god, even second-hand it’s going to cost a fortune.”

Anne tuts disapprovingly. “We have time. We’ll look at the list over Christmas. We can order things online cheaper than you can buy in most stores. I can borrow some things here from women at church.”

“Still. The bus is fine. Tell Robin if he sends the money I’ll just spend it on a stroller and still take the bus. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He disconnects the call before she can argue further, but she rings straight back.

“Mom, seriously. I’ve got a hundred podcasts to catch up on. The time will fly by. The bus is fine.”

There’s a long silence, and then he hears Louis’ voice. “Bus to where?”

Harry rubs at his eyes and tries not to groan.

“Sorry. Thought you were my mother. It’s early, isn’t it?” He tilts the phone away from his ear to look at it. Eight in the morning.

“Yeah, I just wanted to apologize. I was doing digital forensics this morning trying to piece together my evening and discovered I’d been blowing up your phone at all hours. I was drunk, but that’s … I’m sorry, is all.”

Harry’s not sure what to think. It might be the first time he’s ever heard Louis apologize for anything, ever. It’s definitely the first time Louis has ever called him instead of texting.

“Uh, it’s fine. I…my phone was off,” he lies. “I didn’t see them ‘til this morning. Sounds like a good night.”

Louis chuckles. “Mate, I’ve no idea. I drank way too much. Woke up face down on Niall’s couch fully-clothed about twenty minutes ago. Feel like someone ran me over with a semi.”

Harry laughs. He tries not to examine why the thought of Louis waking up alone makes him feel unaccountably more relaxed.

“Anyway, probably for the best. By the sounds of things being that drunk was the only thing that stopped me hearing Zayn and Niall fucking like rabbits in the next room. Now they’ve started up again, I’m going to hit the road.”

“Okay.” Harry expects Louis to end the call, but instead he just hears the sound of the door to the house clicking closed.

“So, what’s this bus trip you’re planning?”

“Christmas. I’m heading home on Saturday. Mom and I were just disagreeing about how I’m going to get there. She wanted me to rent a car.”

Louis lets out a low groan. “I’m so gutted. This is the first Christmas since I started college that I can’t make it home. My internship starts so early, I’d have to basically get on a plane back here before dessert was served.”

The words fly out of Harry’s mouth before he has time to process them. “Come home with me.”

Silence stretches on the line, and he rushes to fill it. “I mean, you can’t sit around the dorm having a microwave turkey dinner. And my job means I have to be back early too.”

“You’re still working?” Louis voice sounds soft, and tinged with concern. “I thought you’d have stopped by now.”

Harry burrows into his duvet and closes his eyes. “Can’t afford to,” he murmurs quietly. “Got a baby to raise.”

The silence doesn’t seem awkward or sad, but Harry wishes he could see Louis’ face right now. Read his expression.

“I mean, yeah...of course.”

Harry bites his lip, rubbing the heel of his hand in his eye socket.

“Of course, I’d love to come. I mean, if you’re sure your family won’t mind.”

Harry buries his smile in this pillow. “Mom would be delighted.”

“Okay. Then, yeah.” The background noise on Louis’ end of the line increases. He must be back at his dorm. “That would be great. Saturday. But, Harry?”

“Mm?”

“We’re not taking the bus.” Louis disconnects the call, and Harry tries very hard to lie still and not think too hard about what he’s just done. The baby has other ideas, commencing a very complicated tap routine on his bladder. He rubs at his stomach soothingly as he gets up to go to the bathroom. “I don’t know, bean,” he says, looking at his sleepy expression in the mirror. “I’ve got no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

He texts his mom and Gemma and tells them both he’s bringing a friend home for the holidays, and he resolutely ignores their calls over the next couple of days as he struggles through his end-of-term exams.

Saturday dawns bright and cold and clear, and Harry shoves the few items of clothing that still fit him comfortably in a duffle, tugs a beanie down over his ears, and waits for Louis in the lobby of the dorm.

As he hauls himself awkwardly into the passenger seat of Louis’ car, his breath catches. Louis is wearing dark inky-blue jeans and a soft grey rollneck sweater. He’s clean-shaven and the scent of his ferociously expensive cologne fills the car. Harry’s not sure, but he thinks his mouth might actually be watering.

“You look...nice,” he manages, almost choking on his own understatement.

Louis pulls a mock-offended face at him, as he heads north away from campus housing. “Harold. I know how to dress to meet the parents.”

Harry’s throat feels thick, and it seems like there is less oxygen in the car than there was a minute ago, because _is that what this is?_ Taking Louis home to meet his parents? Louis catches sight of his stricken expression out of the corner of his eye and punches him in the arm. “Just fucking with you, mate,” he laughs, and tosses his iPhone at Harry. “You can choose the music. But none of that whiny hipster bullshit you always have in your Spotify feed.”

Harry refrains from asking why Louis would have even paid attention to his Spotify feed, concentrating instead on scrolling through the recommended playlists before settling on Driving Anthems, and schooling his hands not to tremble too much. By the time they both yell their way through Radar Love - _It's my baby callin', says I need you here_  
_And it's a half past four and I'm shiftin' gear_ \- Harry’s regained his composure. He has a few days with Louis, all to himself, and he’s determined to relax and enjoy them. It works, mostly, until they near the limits of Harry’s small home town.

“So, um, my step-dad Robin has cancer.”

Louis’ head whips to look at him, his expression serious. “Jesus, Harry. I’m sorry. How’s he doing?”

“He’s fighting it pretty hard,” Harry huffs out a sad laugh. “Fucking hate the way we talk about cancer like war. What does it mean when you lose? That you didn’t fight hard enough? That’s bullshit.”

“Do you want me to pull over for a moment?” Louis asks, quietly.

“No, I just. It’s been really expensive. So, I don’t want you to...be surprised, is all. Our house isn’t much.” Harry can feel the embarrassment flush his face and neck red. But better this way, better to have Louis prepared and not to have to see the disdain on his face when they get there.

Instead, Louis just looks surprised right now. “Why the fuck would I...Harry, money doesn’t matter to me.” He follows the GPS’ instructions to turn into Harry’s street, his knuckles tight on the wheel.

“It doesn’t matter to you because you _have_ money,” Harry mumbles, watching the familiar houses pass by.

_Your destination is on the right._

Louis parks the car, and unclips his belt, turning in his seat to face Harry. “You really think that little of me? That I’d give a shit where your family lives? Besides, this house is lovely.” He waves a hand out the window at Harry’s modest Cape-Cod-style home. It’s a little faded, but the garden looks pretty even in winter, and his mother has hung bright new yellow curtains in the windows. Harry shrugs, and tries to look at it with fresh eyes.

Louis insists on carrying both of their bags up the path, and so Harry is the one to greet Gemma first as she flings open the door, dragging them both inside. She shoves Harry’s jacket back to marvel at his pregnant stomach. “Look at you!” she squeals, calling out to their mom to announce Harry’s arrival. “You look great.”

Harry smiles, and steps back a little. “This is my sister Gemma. Gem, this is Louis.”

Louis offers his hand for Gemma to shake but she ignores it, tugging him in for a hug. “It’s Christmas,” she explains, warmly. And then it’s as if tiny cogs in her brain start to whir. “Louis…” she looks at Harry for a long moment, her eyebrows raised.

Harry looks at the floor. He’s mentioned Louis enough times to Gemma on their calls that she could start to connect some dots without too much difficulty, but before she can embarrass him Anne and Robin come downstairs, and everyone gets distracted with greetings and introductions, and showing Louis around the house.

Louis slots into their Christmas Eve traditions easily, driving Anne to drop off pies at her church for the lunch they’ll serve the next day, and sitting at the kitchen table talking sports with Robin while Harry bakes cookies. They eat a simple dinner together, and watch Miracle on 34th Street by the light of the Christmas tree. Anne and Robin excuse themselves early, and Gemma heads out for a Christmas Eve drink with friends.

When the credits roll Louis stretches out on the couch and wiggles his toes under Harry’s thigh. “Do you have a blanket for me here?”

Harry clasps his ankle to stop the tickling. “No, you go on up to my room. I’ll sleep here.”

Louis props himself up on his elbows with a frown. “Get out. There’s no way your pregnant ass is sleeping here. Go get me a pillow.”

“You’re my guest,” Harry protests.

“You’re sleeping for two.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Harry chuckles.

“Look, this shouldn’t be weird,” Louis reasons, as he sits up properly. “We’ve shared a bed plenty. I reckon we can share yours.”

He’s not wrong, but the words still make something twist in Harry’s gut. Louis being here, on his family couch, his hair messed up and his sweater unbearably soft, it already has Harry slightly adrift. Taking Louis to his bed just seems too confusing. But it’s late, and they’re both tired, and he can’t come up with a solid argument against it, so he lets Louis tug him up to his feet and leads the way upstairs.

Harry takes his pajama bottoms into the bathroom to change, feeling suddenly self conscious about how much his body has changed since Louis last saw it. When he comes back, Louis has stripped down to his black briefs and an old t-shirt that gapes at the collar, exposing his tattoos.

“I figured I’d sleep against the wall,” he says, sliding under the covers. “You probably need to get up to pee a lot.”

Harry gets in next to him. Louis’ right. It’s far from the first time they’ve fitted themselves together in a twin bed. But that was before Harry doubled in size. He shifts about, trying to get comfortable without touching too much of Louis. Louis presses himself back against the wall further.

“You think I have cooties?” Harry smiles in the darkened room, trying not to take offence. Of course Louis doesn’t want to be close to him. He looks like a whale.

Louis just mumbles sleepily beside him, his breath warm puffs of air on the back of Harry’s neck. “Just trying to give you a bit more space,” he whispers.

Harry shifts again, trying to find some arrangement of limbs and belly that doesn’t cause his spine to groan, when Louis places a hand on his hip. His palm feels hot through the thin fabric of Harry’s pajama pants, searing against his skin like a brand. Louis stills his movements, and draws Harry back an inch or two, closer to him, so that Harry can feel the warmth of Louis against his back. All he can think about is the last time they lay like this, sated and damp. It’s been thirty weeks since Louis last touched him like this - since anyone touched him like this - and before Harry can think about anything else, his body has responded and he’s achingly hard.

He freezes.

Louis withdraws his hand, and then passes over his pillow. “Have this one as well,” he says softly. “It might help.”

Harry’s pretty sure a pillow isn’t going to help the situation he’s found himself in now, but he’s certainly not going to get up to jerk off while Louis sleeps in his childhood bed, so he props his stomach up as best he can and forces himself to close his eyes and sleep, miserable and turned on.

~*~

Christmas morning is filled with music and delicious aromas spilling forth from the kitchen. Harry made Louis promise not to get gifts, but his mom has gone to town with little piles of hand-knitted clothes for the baby that he bets the ladies at church had something to do with. Gemma gives him comedy onesies with sayings like _I get my good looks from my aunt_ , and a voucher for a pregnancy massage at a spa near campus. “You need to look after yourself too,” she says, when Harry hugs her fiercely.

Louis watches proceedings while clutching his coffee mug and curled up in an arm chair, his hair in a million different directions, and the legs of his sweatpants trailing over his bare feet. Harry realizes he’s never seen him this unguarded before, this _dismantled_. He looks lovely.

“We have one more gift for you, Harry,” Robin says, giving Anne’s hand a squeeze as he passes Harry a small box. In it is a set of car keys. Harry sucks in a breath and feels his eyes well up.

“We’ve talked about it, and we can make do with one car for now, so I want you to take mine. I can’t drive myself much after my treatments anyway, and you’ll need a car with the baby.”

Harry tries to make some sort or protest, but all the words are choked up inside him.

His mother continues. “We don’t like you taking that bus late at night. It’s not that safe. And while you’re still in school, we’ll keep paying the car insurance.”

At that, wet sobs burst out of Harry as he hugs both his mother and step-father tightly, thanking them over and over. When he sits back he glances at Louis, who is grinning ear to ear. For a second he feels like maybe this should be uncomfortable, Louis getting this glimpse into his family life, into the sacrifices his parents are prepared to make for him. But it isn’t. At all.

The whole household has a lazy late-morning brunch of waffles, with endless pots of tea and Christmas cookies. Harry and his mother commandeer the kitchen to start the preparations for Christmas dinner, and when the bulk of the work is complete, Louis pads into the kitchen in socked feet to help with the dishes. He keeps yawning, and Harry realizes he probably didn’t get very much sleep, what with being jammed between Harry and the wall, and with Harry’s repeated trips to the bathroom.

“Here,” he says, with a smile, snagging the tea towel out of Louis’ grip. “Go lie down for a bit. Dinner’s not for a while. You can help me clean up after.”

Louis looks for a second like he might protest, but another yawn overtakes him, and he nods gratefully, squeezing Harry’s arm for a second and then leaving the kitchen.

Gemma takes up the tea towel and passes another dirty pan to Harry. She works in silence, putting away the clean dishes, and arranging the others to Harry’s left. But he can tell the entire time that her eyes are fixed on him, and not on what she’s doing.

Harry scrubs stubbornly at the pan. He’s managed to avoid being alone with Gemma ever since he arrived home, and now he feels slightly trapped. His shoulders tense.

“So. Louis.”

Harry feels like a caged animal. He wonders how he can get out of this conversation and provide the least amount of information to Gemma as possible. He says nothing, continuing to scrub at a particular stubborn patch on a griddle pan.

“He seems lovely,” Gemma continues. Her tone is light, but Harry knows from past experience she’s gearing up to move into CIA interrogator mode. He hums in agreement, but still says nothing. The key is not to give her anything to work with.

“You’ve mentioned him a lot lately.”

Harry’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say, and he kicks himself that he thought he could come here and not confront a conversation like this one.

“And I know you used to hook up.”

Harry drops the pan he’s scrubbing into the sink with a thud. He grits his teeth and refuses to turn around. “Just say what you want to say, Gemma.”

His sister puts down the tea towel, and places a hand softly on his arm, turning him toward her. Harry looks at his feet. His face feels too hot, and his back hurts.

“Is Louis the father of your baby?”

Gemma takes one of his hands in hers, running her thumb softly over his knuckles. Harry looks up at her with wide eyes, tears brimming.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Behind him, Harry hears a gasp and a sudden sharp clatter. All the blood drains from his face, as he spins - time slowing to focus solely on Louis’ horrified expression, as his phone slides across the kitchen tile. Gemma sucks in a breath and drops Harry’s hand. Louis just stares at him, a look of shock so profound that it freezes Harry in his tracks.

“Lou...” he croaks out, his voice betraying him. It’s as if the sound of his name is enough to spur Louis into motion, snatching his phone up off the floor and whirling out of the kitchen, taking the stairs to Harry’s room two at a time.

 _Fuck_.

Harry lumbers up the stairs after him, hand clutching as the pain in his lower back stabs in protest. Louis is stuffing his clothes back into his duffle, moving around the room like a tornado, yanking his phone charger out of the wall and scooping his deodorant and hair products off the dresser.

“Louis. Please let me explain.”

“Explain what? How you let me believe that because we’d always used protection, there was no way that could be my baby?”

“Lou…”

“I’m so _fucking_ stupid,” Louis seethes, stuffing his laptop in his bag. “Zayn and Liam, they both said I needed to ask you more about it. And I was the one _defending_ you, fuck! Saying there was no goddamn way you’d lie to me about something like that.”

Harry reaches out, his fingers barely brushing against the skin of Louis’ arm. He snatches away as if the touch has scalded him, spinning around to glare at Harry, and then to stare at Harry’s belly. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses.

The tears slide freely down Harry’s face, and his breath hitches. Louis shoulders his bag and pushes past him. He hears his footsteps heavy on the steps and then the sound of the front door slamming. Louis’ car starts a moment later and pulls rapidly away.

Harry sinks to the edge of his bed, his legs weak, and dissolves into jagged sobs.

Gemma sits down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. “God, Harry,” she murmurs into his hair. “What have you done?”

He cries until he has trouble catching his breath, and Gemma strokes his back and forces him to lean forward and calm down. When he straightens, he finds his mom waiting in the door, her expression sad.

“It’s time for dinner,” she says, softly. “Why don’t you two come downstairs and we can talk about it.”

Harry washes his face, shuddering at his red-rimmed eyes and puffy features, but it’s all he can do not to start crying again when he takes his seat at the dinner table and faces the disappointed faces of his family.

“You really didn’t tell him?” Robin seems confused.

Harry shakes his head, concentrating on cutting his turkey into smaller and smaller pieces, just for something to do.

“I don’t understand, Harry. Louis seemed like a lovely young man. Was there some reason why you felt like he was the sort of person you wanted to bring home for Christmas, but not someone you owed the truth?” His mother has always had a way of slicing straight to the heart of a matter.

Harry lets his fork drop with a clatter. “Look, I know Louis a little better than any of the rest of you do.” He can’t keep the defensive tone out of his voice.

“Then explain this to us,” she insists. “Did he hurt you? Is there a reason you thought the baby wouldn’t be safe if he knew?”

“No, of _course_ not,” Harry groans. Just the idea of Louis hurting him is ridiculous. “But he’s been very clear. He’s not interested in …” _Fuck_. How do you explain to your parents that the father of your unborn child is into no-strings-attached sex with multiple partners? “He doesn’t want this.”

“It doesn’t seem like you gave him a chance to make up his own mind about that,” Gemma reasons, and Harry scowls at her. It still feels like this is partly her fault, somehow.

“I had to make the best decisions I could for me and for the baby,” Harry argues, his voice getting loud in the small room. “And making Louis feel like he was obligated somehow, or that I wanted things from him that he wasn’t prepared to give, well I wasn’t going to do that.”

His mother reaches over and takes one his hands, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Sounds to me like you were making decisions you thought were best for _Louis_.”

All of the anger leaks out of Harry like a deflating balloon. He just feels tired now, and muddled. And he really wants to talk to Louis. But even hours later, after they’ve cleared away the last of dinner and he’s turned off the Christmas tree lights and climbed slowly back up to his room, his calls keep going straight to voicemail.

~*~

The next day he and Gemma take the car to a nearby outlet mall, and Harry spends the last of his paycheck on paternity clothes and discount baby formula. Gemma buys them burgers at the foodcourt.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks, around a mouthful of skinny fries.

“I’ve tried calling him. I’ve texted. He’s not replying,” Harry sighs, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin. “I guess I just have to give him space and see what happens.”

Gemma shrugs. “Give him a little time to calm down, sure. But don’t give up on him, Harry.”

Harry bites at his lip and says nothing. He doesn’t want to let her know that he’s confident he’s not going to hear from Louis again.

That afternoon Robin helps him pack the Moses basket that Anne borrowed from a friend into the back of the car, together with his bag and his shopping, and a stack of tupperware full of leftovers.

“We’ll see you in a few weeks,” his mom assures him, giving him a tight squeeze. “We’ll come straight to the hospital. Call us as soon as it starts.”

Harry nods, and tries not to think about how scared the idea makes him; that the next time he sees his family he’ll be in labor.

Campus is quiet when he gets back, with most people on break for another few days. The gas station seems emptier too, with the customers mostly tourists travelling to or from family, rather than the late-night college crowd.

Harry goes to his 35-week check-up on his own, thrilled to be able to drive himself and not have to wait on Niall. Doctor Mason runs through her usual litany of questions, and tests, and at the end is a little worried about his blood pressure.

“You need to take it easy, Harry. I want you to do all you can to avoid stress in the next couple of weeks,” she says, as she removes the cuff from his arm and makes notes on his file.

Harry scoffs as he tugs the arm of his shirt back down. “I’m twenty one, and about to be a single parent. I’m pretty sure my life is going to be nothing but stress for the foreseeable future.” He means it to be funny, but the doctor gives him a concerned look. She finds a pamphlet on the shelf behind her desk and hands it to Harry. It’s for a support group for single parents.

“They meet at the hospital where you’ll have the baby. I think it might be good for you.”

Harry nods, distracted, and thanks her as he leaves. He throws the pamphlet in a trashcan outside the clinic on the way back to his car. The idea of it offends him in a way he can’t fully understand.

Niall comes to visit his first night back on campus, with a bag of takeout and a stack of movies on DVD. Harry fills him in on everything that happened over the break.

“Fuck, Harry. That’s a lot to deal with,” Niall sympathizes, as he forks obscene amounts of curry into bowls and passes one over. They watch the movie in silence for a bit, but when Niall puts his dinner down and turns toward him on the couch, Harry’s stomach sinks.

“You know you need to talk to him, right? I mean, the way he found out was even more unfair than you keeping it from him in the first place.” Niall doesn’t sound judgmental, but he is insistent.

Harry sighs, slumping a little in the small sofa and resting his head on Niall’s shoulder.

“I know. I thought I was doing the right thing, I really did. I thought I was protecting him, from something he didn’t want. Anyway, right or wrong. I’ve tried. Louis doesn’t want to hear from me now.”

Niall pulls an arm around him, squeezing gently at his shoulder. Harry feels bone-tired. His eyes are dry for what seems like the first time in weeks. He wonders if he’s too tired to even cry any more.

“I’m afraid, Niall,” he whispers like a secret. “I’m afraid to have this baby, and I’m afraid I’m going to be on my own forever. I’m afraid I’m going to be a terrible parent. I feel so trapped by all of this, and then I feel guilty for resenting being pregnant, and resenting Louis, and resenting this tiny little miracle inside me who has done nothing to deserve it.”

Niall hugs him tighter.

“I’m so scared sometimes that even leaving this shithole of an apartment feels overwhelming. I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Fuck, Harry. Why didn’t you tell me it had gotten this bad?” Niall pushes Harry gently back so that he can take both his shoulders in his hands and look him squarely in the eyes. “You can’t keep shit like this to yourself, mate. I’m here for you. Your family is here for you. We’re always going to be around to listen, and to reassure you, and to help you understand that you’re going to be the best possible dad for this kid. No matter what else happens.”

Harry gives a weak nod.

“Come on. You look exhausted. Get to bed. I’ll crash here on this midget couch and I’ll take you out for breakfast in the morning.”

Harry starts to protest, but Niall insists, shoving him up to his feet and saying he’ll grab Harry’s sleeping bag out of the closet. It’s only when Harry’s in the bathroom that he remembers Niall will see his meagre little collection of baby things, but by that stage he’s really too tired to even be embarrassed.

Niall wakes him in the morning with two breakfast sandwiches wrapped in foil, which they eat at the tiny rickety table in Harry’s apartment. In what Harry thinks might be a world first, Niall even lets him have half of his sandwich, after Harry has demolished his own in record time.

“I think you should try getting in touch with Louis again,” Niall says, his eyes dancing in amusement at the speed Harry’s eating. “You guys are going going to be the parents of this baby together for the rest of your lives. You need to sort this out.”

Harry gathers the trash, clearing the table, and pushes up to his feet. “The doctor says I have to watch my blood pressure,” he quips.

Niall flips him off as he heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. “C’mon, man. This is important.”

Harry gives him a noncommittal smile.

On Wednesday, Harry has a day to himself. He drives to the local mall, where there is a large baby store. He wanders around looking at the huge array of clothing and accessories, and feeling increasingly ill about the prices. One outfit in particular, a pale green onesie and jacket with a matching tiny hat, catches his eye. The fabric is soft, and there are tiny lambs embroidered on it. It’s unbearably cute. Harry checks the tag. He can’t afford the whole outfit, but he has enough for the hat. He pays for his purchase, and doesn’t make eye contact with the sales clerk, who scowls at the insignificant total as she rings it up.

Even the relatively short shopping trip wears him out, and he sinks into the sofa with some instant mac and cheese as soon as he gets home. He looks at the tiny little hat and tries to imagine how small the baby will be; how tiny his or her little hand will be in Harry’s. He wonders what the baby will look like, and inevitably, his thoughts turn to Louis. Will the baby look like Louis? Will Louis ever put the little green hat on the baby’s head?

Harry sighs, and digs around under the sofa cushion for his phone. He calls Louis before he can have second thoughts, but again, it goes straight to voicemail. Harry isn’t surprised. He disconnects without leaving a message, but he sends a text.

_Please call me. We have a lot to talk about._

That night he goes to bed with the little green hat clutched in his hand.

Louis doesn’t call.

~*~

Harry finishes up classes in his 38th week, and works his last shift at the gas station. Max gives him a gift hamper full of little bottles of baby shampoo, oil and nappy cream, and Harry feels overwhelmed.

“You let me know if there’s ever anything I can do, Harry,” the older man says, giving him an awkward pat on the back. “Including kicking the ass of the young man responsible for this.”

Harry laughs sadly, and thanks him, pocketing his final paycheck.

The next day he heads back to the mall to stock up on groceries for after the baby arrives, but he finds himself back in the baby store, staring at the little green outfit. Harry tries to imagine his little baby wrapped up in soft, cozy material.

A sales clerk approaches, and Harry realizes it’s the same one from the week before. She gives him a look that is filled with disdain. Even with the new things he bought at Christmas, he doesn’t have a lot of paternity wear, and he often opts for an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. His outfit today wouldn’t win him any fashion awards. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, stretched tight over his stomach. He feels the heat of her gaze, his fingers still clutching the soft material.

“We have some sale items at the back,” she says, with a sour expression, as if she would prefer he wasn’t in the middle of her store. Her judgmental expression spurs Harry into action. He takes the green outfit, and several others off the same rack, and uses his last paycheck to buy them all.

At home, Harry lays all his previous baby purchases out in front of him. He has some diapers, and the baby hygiene products that Max gave him. A little blue baby bath. Some blankets. Clothes. Burp rags. A second-hand diaper bag and a second-hand baby sling. The borrowed Moses basket.

Then he makes a list of things he still needs: a car seat, a stroller, bottles, sterilizers. More of everything else. Harry checks his bank balance in his mobile app. Tearfully, he closes it when he looks at the amount. He eyes the bag of clothing he splurged on in the store.

 _Fuck_. He should never have purchased expensive clothes when he has larger _more_ expensive items to pay for. Harry does some quick calculations. If he can get the rest of what he needs second-hand off Craigslist, he can probably afford it if he returns the clothing. Harry gets up and hangs the bag on the front door knob. He’ll swallow his pride, and return the items tomorrow.

The next day Harry wakes up feeling dreadful. His skin is hot all over and his stomach feels like a rock, with sharp shooting pains spreading across his pelvis. The baby keeps kicking the air from his lungs. Harry sighs and rubs at his face. He dials Niall.

“Mate, what’s up?”

“I need a favor. Can you come with me to the mall?” The last thing he wants to do is face down the bitchy sales clerk on his own feeling this rough.

Niall comes over an hour later. He looks at the bag in Harry's hand. “I think you’re supposed to buy things at the mall, not take them back.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I bought this stuff, but it’s ridiculous. I’m taking it back, and then spending the cash on the shit I actually need.”

Niall says nothing, taking Harry’s keys and locking up the apartment for him while he makes his way out to the car. He holds the car door and waits patiently for Harry to lower himself into the seat and get situated, before he lopes around to the driver’s seat.

Niall fiddles with the radio, settling on a soft rock station playing the Eagles. “How much?” he asks, finally.

Harry sighs. “$150. But I’m not taking your money, Niall, so don’t even suggest it.”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, mate. Not what I was thinking.” He turns up the radio, and starts to sing off-key, and Harry’s grateful that his friend doesn’t press the subject further.

Niall taps away on his phone while they walk through the mall. Harry starts to feel worse, fighting down tears and swallowing thickly around an overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment. He pauses outside the store. The same sales clerk is behind the counter, and Harry is losing his nerve. There’s an ache in his chest, and for the first time since his morning sickness finishes, he feels like he might throw up.

He takes a deep breath, and is about to walk into the store, when Niall grabs at his arm.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got the money.”

Harry huffs, and removes Niall’s hand from his arm. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Nialler, seriously. But I’m not going to take your money for this. I have _enough_ , I just need to make better decisions about what I spend it on.”

“I’m not giving you the money,” Niall says, taking his arm again, and dragging back to the car.

“What are you talking about?” Harry groans in confusion, letting himself be lead back through the crowds, but Niall just shakes his head. “C’mon, man. Let me make the return, and we can go grab this Craigslist stuff.”

“We will get the Craigslist stuff, calm down,” Niall says, driving back through campus towards the dorms. “Google your addresses. Work out where we’re going next.”

Harry digs around in his pocket for his list with frustration, and it takes him a minute to realize the car has stopped outside the building where Louis and Liam dorm together. He looks up with a start. He hasn’t been here since...since the last time.

“No. Niall! What have you done?!” Harry starts to feel overheated. He tugs his hair up off the back of his neck and leans forward, trying to take a deep breath. “No. Come on. Drive.”

He hears a door clang, and looks up to see Louis walking out of the building toward the car.

“Niall. I wanted to _talk_ to him. I didn’t want you to _ask him for money_. This is literally the last thing I wanted. We _talked_ about this. _Drive_. Drive or give me the _fucking_ keys and get out!”

Louis is close enough to the car to flinch when he hears how upset and panicked Harry sounds. He steps falter for a second, and he changes direction, walking around to Niall’s side of the car, as his friend lowers the window.

Niall just shakes his head helplessly, and Louis hands him an envelope. Harry won’t look up. He _can’t_ look up. His chest feels tight with embarrassment and betrayal, and if wasn’t the size of a house he’d be out of the car and half way down the street by now. He hears Niall’s window go back up, and the car starts to move again. They sit in awkward silence until they pull up at the family housing complex.

Harry looks at Niall. His jaw is tight, and the expression on his face is cold. He hands the envelope to Harry. “You need to sort this shit out, Harry. It’s not okay.”

Harry resists the urge to throw the envelope back at him, crumpling it in his fist and fumbling for the door handle behind him. He lurches out of the car and doesn’t look back, making his way up the stairs to his apartment despite being almost blinded by hot tears.

Harry opens the envelope and spreads it out on his kitchen counter. It's more money then he makes in a week at the gas station. Five hundred dollars. All of the pride he’s been clinging to dissolves as he wipes at his eyes with a paper towel. His baby needs things, the rest of it can wait. He gets out his list of Craigslist addresses, washes his face, and tucks the money in his jacket pocket.

That night Harry calls his mom, and she listens to him stumble over telling her what had happened.

“Oh Harry,” she murmurs, when he finishes. “It sounds to me like Louis wants to help. But this must be very confusing for him.”

Harry snorts. Being pregnant has been a lot more confusing for him.

“I’m being serious, Harry. You haven’t handled this well by not being upfront with Louis from the beginning, and now when he tries to help you shut him out. You need to fix this. No baby deserves to arrive in the world with their parents fighting like this.” Her tone is kind but firm, and Harry knows that she’s right, as much as it hurts to hear it.

“I’ll work it out,” he says, sadly, as he says goodbye.

He’s tired, but he unpacks his purchases and starts to put things away. Folding all the tiny clothes brings a smile to his face for the first time in as long as he can remember. He cuts the tags on the little green outfit and lays it out on the table, fetching the matching hat. He takes a picture of it and opens instagram. He types _Two more weeks and I’ll meet my little miracle_ but as he goes to post it, something makes him pause. Harry thinks about Louis standing there in the parking lot, a handful of cash and a heartbroken expression. He amends the caption.

_Two more weeks and we’ll meet our little miracle._

For the first time in nearly nine months Harry feels happy, despite the mess he’s made of things with Louis. He will get to meet his baby soon.

Harry wakes up the next morning confused and a bit dazed. His alarm hasn’t gone off, and the room is still dark. Then he hears it again: a light knocking at his front door. Harry looks at the time on his phone. It's only six am, far earlier than he’d had planned to get up.

He hauls himself out of bed, the waistband of his boxer briefs settled below his heavy belly. Waddling to the door feels like so much work, and Harry keeps a hand rubbing circles into his lower back. He hurts all over. No one stops by the apartment but Niall and Niall doesn’t get up this early. Harry thinks if there’s someone on the other side of the door messing with him, he is going to lose his mind.

He opens the front door. No one is there. Harry feels anger boiling his blood. Then he sees a bag hanging on the front door. Harry picks up the bag cautiously. He’d recognize the color anywhere, because it’s from the baby store in the mall where he’s spent altogether too much time and money over the last couple of days. There are several outfits inside, a gift card to the grocery store and a toasted bagel wrapped in tinfoil. There is also a yellow post it note attached to the bagel, _Have a good breakfast. -Louis._

Harry closes the door to his apartment, taking the bag inside. He lays out the three outfits on the table and stares at them as he eats his bagel. Harry has his phone open to Louis’ contact, and his eyes flick from the outfits to Louis’ phone number.

He decides texting will be easier. It’s a simple message, but it takes him forever to write.

_We should talk, right?_

Louis replies almost immediately. Harry wonders how far he’d gotten; if he’s somewhere nearby.

_Yes. Tell me when works for you._

_Any time. I’ve finished up classes and work now._

There’s a pause, and Harry wonders if Louis is changing his mind. He rolls his shoulders, feeling how tight his muscles have become.

_I’ll come back after class at 11._

Harry ambles around the apartment, trying to make it look a little more presentable. He empties the trash, and opens the balcony briefly, letting in the cold winter breeze in to air the place out. The effort tires him, and he lies back down on the couch. The baby has been moving around a lot more, and he feels out of breath and sore all over. He nods in and out of sleep until he hears Louis’ knocking at the door. It feels like too much effort to get up, so he just calls out. “Come in.”

Louis takes forever to open the door, and Harry watches it slowly swing wide from his vantage point on the couch.

Finally staring at one another, Harry is suddenly painfully aware of the ratty sweatpants he’s wearing and his bare chest. No one other than the doctor has seen his naked stomach this pregnant. He feels suddenly on display, especially given the way Louis’ eyes are laser-focused on his stomach.

Harry sits up, hoping if he is seated upright and not lounging back on the couch he won’t feel as vulnerable. The change in position doesn’t help much. He wraps both his arms around his belly, as if he’s trying to erect a shield between them. Louis still hasn’t said anything and his eyes haven’t left Harry’s expanded stomach.

“It’s rude to stare.” He was aiming for light, but his voice sounds strained. Tight.

It seems to get Louis’ attention. He steps haltingly into the small apartment, pulling the door closed behind him.

“That’s my baby,” he says softly, voice no louder than a whisper. It’s a statement, not a question.

Harry nods in response. Louis tentatively makes his way to the couch, sitting down gingerly next to Harry, as if he doesn’t want to disturb him, or he’s too afraid to get too close to him. Harry tracks his movements like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

“Can I…” His hand hovers in the air between them.

Harry says, “yes,” but he sounds nervous, even to his own ears.

Louis looks up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry nods and tells him it’s okay.

Louis’ fingers are soft as they cup the bottom of his bump. His hands wander gently over the expanse of his belly, and he seems completely in awe of the situation. When he looks up at Harry again, his eyes are shining.

Harry has only ever seen this side of Louis once - soft and bright, his eyes dancing - at Christmas, before Harry ruined everything.

Louis has his hands on either side of Harry’s bare belly, and he lowers his head to it, whispering, “Hi there, I’m your other Daddy. We haven’t really met before… but...” Harry hears his voice get choked up. He rests a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis looks up at him, his eyes watering just a bit. “You could have told me, Harry. You should have told me.”

Harry knows this, knows now without a shadow of a doubt that he was wrong, but he doesn’t know what to say to fix things. With Louis’ hands on his bare stomach he feels more exposed than ever. Louis’ face is still near his belly. He brushes a kiss to a hard spot where the baby is pressed too, and he whispers “I can’t wait to meet you,” to the baby inside.

Louis lets go of Harry’s stomach and straightens up. He looks at Harry, his face serious and tense.

“Why did you do it?”

A million answers flood through Harry’s mind. Excuses. Justifications. None of them seem right. He settles for the simplest. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“My child will never be a burden,” Louis replies, looking at Harry’s stomach again. Harry tries not to think about the fact that he says my child, not our child. That he says nothing about Harry at all.

“I’ve told my mother,” Louis continues, as if this is something final. Something definitive. “And I want to come stay here, just for a little while, after the baby is born. I want to help.”

Harry looks around the depressing little apartment, torn between insisting that there is no way Louis can possibly stay here, and weeping in gratitude on his shoulder. He manages a weak nod.

“I have to get to class,” he says, and then leans forward to say goodbye to Harry's belly. “Get some rest.” Louis lets himself out. Harry lets his tears overtake him, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing art at the beginning of this chapter from Rubycurls. Check out her [tumblr ](http://rubycurls.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

Harry goes into labor on a Wednesday.

He wakes up feeling sore and uncomfortable, and when the pain in his pelvis gets to be unbearable he calls his doctor's office. They tell him it’s time to go to the hospital.

Out of habit, the first call he makes is to Niall.

“It’s time.”

“It is fucking not,” Niall groans, blearily. “Any time that starts with a seven or less is imaginary. Unless you’re still up from the night before, in which case…”

Harry cuts him off. “Niall, the baby.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_. I’ll be right there.”

The second call he makes is Louis. Louis doesn't answer, so he leaves a voicemail telling him which hospital to meet them at.

Harry gets his hospital bag and waits on the couch for Niall to arrive. He dials his mom to tell her as well, trying not to let the nerves overwhelm him.

Niall comes barrelling into the apartment like a tornado. “You okay, mate? How’s the pain?”

Harry clutches at his stomach and groans as another wave sweeps through him.

“Good answer. Let’s go get you some excellent drugs. And a baby.”

He carries Harry's bag out to the car and helps him into the car, muttering curses under his breath. “Fuck. This is happening. I mean. _Fuck_. Where’s Louis?”

“I’ve left him a message.”

“Try him again, come on. Keep calling him until he wakes the fuck up.”

On the third try, Louis answers sounding breathless, like he's been running. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He disconnects the call, just as Niall pulls the car into the hospital emergency bay.

“Just like in the fucking movies, mate,” he grins at Harry, who refrains from saying that they probably could have walked from the parking lot, as yet another contraction causes him to double over.

The hospital staff are lovely, and calm, and reassuring. Before Harry can think too much about it, he’s in a hospital gown and hooked up to an IV and to monitors that beep soothingly in the background. Doctor Mason comes to check on him, and starts to run through the c-section procedure again.

“We’ve been over this,” Harry smiles, giving her hand a squeeze.

She laughs. “I know. But sometimes first-time dads forget all the things I’ve told them when the big day arrives.”

There’s a noise at the door, and they both look up to see Louis, looking flustered. He has one hand on the frame, as if he’s not sure whether he should come all the way into the room or not.

Niall immediately bounces up, and points to the now vacant chair next to Harry's bed. Harry introduces him to Doctor Mason.

“You’re the father?” she asks brightly, looking down at her chart to check his name. Harry watches carefully as Louis smiles, small and delighted, and says that he is.

“Excellent. Harry here thinks he doesn’t need me to go over the procedure with him one more time, so perhaps I’ll just run through it with you.” She gives Harry a theatrical wink, and starts talking about the timing and effect of the epidural.

Once the doctor leaves, the room seems too quiet. Niall has found an outdated copy of People magazine, and is snacking on a candybar in the corner.

“Does it hurt?” Louis asks, drawing Harry’s attention.

“Not really. They have me pretty numb, now. I’m just excited about meeting the baby. It’s hard to think about anything else.”

Louis grabs Harry's hand, entwining their fingers together on top of the sheet. It's the first time they've ever held hands, and it makes Harry's heart flutter more than it should, but Harry doesn't have time to think it over because right then his mother comes rushing into the room.

“My baby!” she exclaims, eyes wet, as she embraces him tightly, and then gives Louis a warm hug as well. “How are you both holding up?”

“Well,” says Niall from behind her, “I don’t really like being woken up early, and the vending machine here is crap, but other than that.”

Anne spins around laughing, and ruffles Niall’s hair.

“Robin is getting us sorted at a motel nearby, he’ll be along a bit later. Is there anything you need?”

Harry shakes his head, looking down at where Louis has slid his hand back across the bedding and into his. He squeezes gently, smiling, and looks up to find his mother giving him a knowing look.

A nurse comes in to take a final look at the readings on a couple of the monitors, and tells Harry that it’s time, and that he can bring one person into the operating room with him. Louis lets go of his hand and stands up, watching as Harry looks between Niall and his mom. “I’ll just wait in the…”

Harry cuts him off. “I’d like Louis to come with me,” he says to his mom, who just smiles and nods.

“We’ll be here when you get back.”

An orderly comes to help push Harry’s bed out into the hall, and Louis walks alongside, retaking Harry’s hand, and leaning in to whisper a soft _thank you_ in his ear. Harry starts to feel overwhelmed, and before he can think of what to say, a nurse is leading Louis away to put on a sterile gown, and all he can focus on is how bright and _medical_ everything looks. He sort of hates it. Every nightmare episode of Grey’s Anatomy starts playing on a loop in his brain.

“Harry? You doing alright?” Doctor Mason interrupts his catastrophizing, her eyes kind above her mask. He manages a small nod, as a nurse drapes his belly and places a screen so that he won’t be able to see anything involving scalpels. The doctor’s explained all this to him, more than once, but the reality of it is different. This is really happening now. He starts to feel a bit short of breath.

“It’s okay.” A warm hand in his. And Louis is here, perching on a stool beside the bed, looking every inch the hot doctor in the green gown and hat. Harry wants to tell him that, but all he can think about is that Louis is here, and the baby - _their_ baby - is about to arrive. It’s too soon. They haven’t had time to talk about everything. He hasn’t had time to explain, to make things right. He’s not ready to be a parent yet. He hasn’t read all the books.

_He’s not ready._

But then he feels Louis suck in a breath, and there’s a sort of tugging, low in his abdomen, and then Doctor Mason is lifting a tiny, living, breathing, _crying_ , actual honest-to-god _baby_ above the screen.

“It’s a girl,” she says, eyes crinkling with joy. “She looks great. We’re going to get her cleaned up now.” She turns and a nurse takes the baby - their _daughter_ \- to a crib at the side of the table. “Let’s get you all closed up.”

Louis looks at Harry, his eyes bright and brimming with unshed tears. He squeezes his hand, as if he’s unsure whether to let go or not. The nurse appears on the other side of the table, holding this impossibly tiny little bundle, and she places the little girl in Harry’s arms.

Harry feels like he can’t breathe. She’s so very tiny, her features screwing up tight and then relaxing as she nuzzles against him. Tiny perfect bow of a mouth; dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. He hears Louis inhale a shuddery breath beside his ear, and he turns to look at him. He looks as dazed as Harry feels, his eyes wet and wide with wonder.

“She’s…” he trails off, but Harry understands. There aren’t words for this. For how overwhelmed and awestruck they both feel.

Louis trails a finger gently along the baby’s tiny arm. “Have you thought of a name?”

He sounds so unsure, and Harry hates it. Hates that Louis hasn’t been a part of this all along. That in doing what he thought best, he unwittingly deprived Louis of the chance to prepare for this moment, to think about these things.

“I had some ideas,” he whispers. It feels like this conversation is too personal to be having here, in this horrible, brightly lit room, with medical staff all around them, and with Doctor Mason still working a few feet away. He wants to take Louis and his daughter, their daughter, far away from this. Wants to apologize properly. Wants to tell Louis that he can name their daughter anything he wants if he’ll just stay.

 _Hormones_. It’s the only way to account for the fact that he’s suddenly sappier than the worst romcom he’s ever seen.

“Emma Rose,” he says, finally. “Emma’s a family name, and Rose is just…” _Just pretty_ , he thinks. Like this impossibly beautiful, tiny life in his arms.

Louis says nothing, for a long moment. Harry tears his eyes away from the baby to look up at him, afraid he’ll find a look of disdain or disapproval, but Louis’ tears are falling freely now.

“Rose is my grandmother’s name,” he manages, his voice thick with emotion.

“Louis,” Doctor Mason says gently, a hand on his arm breaking the spell that had bound them. “Why don’t you bring baby…”

“Emma,” Louis interrupts.

“Emma,” the doctor continues with a smile, “over here into this crib. The nurse will show you how to feed her. We’ll get Harry back to his room, and you can bring Emma to join him.”

Louis looks at Harry, as if seeking permission, and Harry wants to kiss all the uncertainty off his face, but instead he lifts Emma off his chest and offers her up slowly, supporting her as Louis takes her from him. Louis looks down at the baby as if he can’t quite believe that she’s real, and when he looks back at Harry it feels like a promise. Like whatever else has happened between them, the only thing that matters now is this little girl. Harry slumps back against the bed, and can only hope that it’s true.

Exhausted, Harry falls asleep before he is brought back to his room.

~*~

When Harry opens his eyes, light is streaming in through a large window.

Louis is sitting in a chair beside his bed, with Emma cradled in his arms, feeding. A well-dressed woman is sitting beside him.

“Hello,” he croaks.

Louis looks up with a start, a smile lighting up his face.

“Harry!” he takes the now-empty bottle from Emma, and places it on the side table, standing slowly and arranging her in Harry’s arms. He tucks a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear, a gesture that is so small, and soft, and comforting that Harry doesn’t know how to react. “This is my mother, Johannah.”

Harry feels like it should be awkward, that this is the first time they’re meeting. That he kept this from her as well as her son. But Emma is warm and soft, and smells heavenly. He can’t really think about anything but her.

“I’m so glad that everything went well,” Louis’ mother says, her smile kind. “Anne and Robin, I met them just now. They’ve gone down to get some lunch, so I’ll join them and give you two a moment alone.” She gathers her bag and coat, and sweeps out of the room before Harry can think of anything to say.

Louis perches on the side of the bed, his fingers drawing idle circles on Emma’s back.

“You did so well, Harry,” he says, quietly, not taking his eyes off the baby. “She’s so beautiful.”

And she is. But all Harry can concentrate on all of a sudden is the careful distance Louis maintains between them. That he’s only touching Emma.

“Now that Mom has seen her, I’m going to drive her to her hotel and get her settled. She’s going to stick around for a few days.”

Harry nods, unable to say anything around the lump that has formed in his throat.

Louis presses a gentle kiss to the top of Emma’s head and leaves without looking up.

The next two days in the hospital are confusing and overwhelming. It seems like everyone wants to give Harry instructions. Whether it’s about feeding or holding Emma, or looking after his incision, or pain relief or recovery, there’s a constant stream of information that he feels he’s not taking in.

He’s tired at a level he’s never experienced before. Emma is beautiful when she’s sleeping, but fusses when she’s awake, and he feels so helpless, unable to lift her out of the crib himself yet and constantly having to get nurses to come to help him during the night.

Louis spends every minute of the visiting hours with them both, and Harry desperately wants to talk to him, but his sole focus is Emma and Harry finds himself so grateful to see her settling in Louis’ arms that he tends to be asleep himself before he can even think of all the things he wants to say. And his abdomen aches, his muscles feel weak, like his body has betrayed him somehow.

“It’s all normal,” his mother says, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, as all of this confusion tumbles out of him in a rush. She came to help him get ready to leave the hospital, and just the sight of her caused tears to slide down Harry’s face. “This is all a lot to get used to, baby,” she murmurs. “And it will continue to be a lot. But we’re all here for you, you know that.”

Harry nods unhappily. Swiping at his nose with his sleeve and trying to pull himself together, as Louis arrives with the car seat. He falters at the door to the room when he sees Harry’s red-rimmed eyes. “I can...come back, or…”

Harry sniffles, and pushes himself gingerly up to a sitting position. He wishes to god it wasn’t so awkward between them. “No, it’s okay. I’m just going to clean up a bit. Why don’t you get her dressed?” He waves a hand in the direction of his bag, as his mother helps him to his feet and he shuffles toward the ensuite bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face. It will be a relief to get out of the hospital. He’s sure that the noisy, confusing environment is half of what’s been upsetting Emma. It certainly hasn’t been easy for him to sleep. He throws his toothbrush in his toilet bag and heads back out into the room.

Anne is helping Louis fasten Emma into the carseat, and Harry bites his lip as he realizes that Louis has dressed Emma in the little green outfit with the lambs. The hat looks just as gorgeous on her as he’d imagined it would weeks ago. It makes him want to cry all over again.

A nurse insists that Harry has to take a wheelchair to the entrance, which makes him feel useless and disabled, but he tries not to complain. Anne pushes him as Louis walks beside, carrying Emma like she’s the most fragile cargo in the world.

For some reason, Harry’s surprised to realize that it’s Louis’ SUV in the parking lot. He’s not sure why he’d thought it would be his car, or his mother’s. He watches in silence as Louis clicks the car seat into the base with ease. He looks back at Harry’s confused expression, and gives a small shrug. “I practised.”

Anne helps Harry up into the back seat beside Emma, before getting into the passenger seat herself. “I’m going to come back and get a few meals sorted for you both,” she says, by way of explanation. “Robin will come and pick me up after work this evening.”

Harry remembers with a start that she’s headed home today, and it feels awful. The idea that this will be it, all of a sudden. Just him and Emma in his grimy little apartment. And Louis. Wherever Louis fits in that picture. He says nothing, and stares out the window as they drive back to campus.

Niall has been over, if the limp looking WELCOME HOME EMMA banner and clutch of St Patricks Day-themed balloons is anything to go by, and the idea of someone trying to make this dowdy, institutional little room feel like a home is too much for Harry to bear. His skin feels too tight, and he wants to be on his own. Doesn’t want Anne pottering in tiny kitchen and doesn’t want Louis stacking bags of diapers in the cramped closet. Besides, the hinges squeak like banshees and if he closes it then Emma will wake up. Which, of course, is exactly what happens next; her little lungs no impediment to her screams filling the room. A headache tightens around Harry’s skull as he tries to comfort her.

Louis keeps moving things, trying to create more space and order, as he brings in loads of supplies from his car, and Harry can’t help needling at him.

“Don’t put that there, it should be in the bathroom.”

“I don’t know why you’ve bought so many of those, she may not even like them.”

“That brand is too expensive. We should get the cheaper kind.”

His head is pounding. And Emma won’t stop crying. And his scar itches, and his muscles ache, and his mother is humming and he really, really needs to be on his own. Louis is ignoring him, and trying to stack extra tins of formula on a shelf above the fridge.

“That’s loose they’ll just…” _slip_ , he thinks, as the shelf does just that, and the tins fall to the floor with a clatter and Emma’s cries turn into full-blown screams again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, as he stacks the tins back on the bench, and clutches the broken shelf, his knuckles white. Anne dries her hands on a tea towel, and pats his shoulder gently as she walks over to Harry and takes Emma from him, cradling the back of her head and rocking her softly.

“You need some more baby wipes,” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “I think you and Louis should go to Target.”

It’s ridiculous. They absolutely don’t need more wipes, and even if they did, he and Louis going to Target makes zero sense, but even as his mouth is falling open to argue, she narrows her eyes at him and walks into the bedroom, taking Emma with her.

Harry looks at Louis, still scowling in the kitchen, and realizes it’s the first time they’ve been alone since before Emma was born.

Maybe his mother is right.

He gets his coat, and walks out the front door into the cold air, and doesn’t wait to see if Louis is following him. The snow has melted, and the sidewalks are filthy, with dirty slush piled in the gutters. He tugs his coat closed, still unused to the way it fits now that he’s no longer pregnant. It feels wrong, and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Emma used to be inside him, and now she’s a living, breathing, _bawling_ person.

“We’ll take my car,” Louis says, walking past him and unlocking the SUV.

“No, we’ll take my fucking car," Harry insists, even as he recognizes he’s being ridiculous. He won’t be able to drive for another six weeks, but he doesn’t even care. Just the indignity of Louis having to help him up into the higher seat of the SUV is too much for him. He unlocks the car and gets into the passenger side, tossing the keys onto the driver’s seat.

Louis gets in and turns on the engine, and the heating starts to warm the car, but he doesn’t pull away from the curb.

A long silence stretches between them.

“We don’t need wipes,” Harry says, finally.

“No. There are plenty in the bathroom. I put them under the sink, but that’s probably wrong as well.” Louis’ tone is icy.

Harry wants to protest, because it’s not that Louis is wrong, it’s just that the apartment is small, and there’s going to be _three_ of them, and he’s thought about where things need to live so he can find them and...he lets out all the breath he’s holding with a sigh, the fight going out of him like one of Niall’s floppy helium balloons.

“I know I said I’d stay for a bit. Help out,” Louis says, dully. “But I don’t think this is going to work. Get your mom to stay for another couple of days, and I’ll go back to the dorm. You can let me know when I can come and see my daughter.”

He waits for another long moment, as if to see whether Harry will fight him on this. And then he sighs, and opens the car door.

“Our daughter,” Harry whispers. So quietly he wouldn’t be sure that Louis heard him, except that he pauses. “She’s _our_ daughter.” All of the exhaustion and frustration of the last few hours, the last few _days_ , seems to boil over again and Harry’s sobbing openly. Louis pulls the car door closed again, swiveling in his seat to face him.

“You didn’t _want_ her to be ours,” Louis says, his voice like broken glass. “You didn’t tell me about her.”

“I knew you didn’t want this,” Harry sobs.

“ _Then you don’t know me at all!_ ” Louis shouts, too loud in the enclosed space. And it’s shocking. He hasn’t yelled at Harry once, not since Christmas. It brings Harry up short. He takes a shuddering inhale, staring at Louis, wild-eyed and breathing heavily. And the worst part about it is that Louis is _right_.

He doesn’t know Louis, not really. He’d been getting to know him, back before Christmas. The text messages; the way he’d started to understand that Louis wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

“I’d … I think I’d like to,” he says, quietly. His voice is thick with tears and exhaustion. He hears Louis let out a long exhale and looks up to find him frowning at Harry in confusion.

“I know I’ve fucked this all up,” he ploughs on, feeling like he has to get all these words out of his chest so that he can breathe again. “I thought I was doing the right thing. For me, and for Emma, _and_ for you. But it wasn’t … I didn’t …” He sniffs again, wiping at his eyes and running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

The silence stretches to fill the car.

“I’m really sorry, Louis. And I don’t want my mother to stay, I want _you_ to. I want us to work this out together. We’re going to be Emma’s parents for the rest of our lives. We need to … find a way.”

He looks up at Louis again, and the frown has softened into something more neutral. He looks resigned.

“I, yeah. I mean. Okay.” He lifts a hand off the steering wheel, as if he might be going to reach for Harry, but then drops it back, helplessly. “We’ll go back to Plan A, then.”

Harry nods.

“But we don’t need any more fucking wipes, right?”

He lets out a humorless chuckle. “No, no more wipes.”

“Good. Let’s go give your mom a break, then.”

Anne eyes them both as they let themselves back into the apartment, but Harry doesn’t offer any real explanation. Louis takes Emma and settles himself on the couch so that she can go back to the kitchen, and they both insist that Harry take some time to lie down. He can’t find it in himself to argue, and he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes a couple of hours later, the apartment smells delicious, and his stomach rumbles. He shuffles out of his room to find Anne stacking the last of tupperware containers in his already packed little freezer, and Robin waiting by the door.

“We’ll call you tomorrow and see how you’re getting on,” she says, kissing him on the forehead, and crossing the room to give Louis a quick hug.

“And you call us, whenever you need, for whatever reason.”

Louis nods, with a smile.

“Right, let’s go before I get all weepy again,” she says, tugging Robin by the sleeve and before Harry can really process it, the door is closed and the apartment is silent again.

Emma is soundly sleeping in the Moses basket. Harry notices that Louis can't help but keep taking peeks at her, as if he can't take his eyes off the baby.

“Are you hungry?”

“I ate with your mom before you woke up,” Louis replies, “but I can heat you something?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’ll do it.” He feels disoriented from sleep, but he’s still exhausted. He settles on the undersized couch beside Louis, and they watch a film on his laptop. Emma stirs as the credits roll, and Louis feeds and changes her as Harry watches. She’s so very small, and it feels impossible that the two of them are responsible for her. It makes his chest ache.

Louis carries the Moses basket into Harry’s room.

“I need to change my dressing,” Harry murmurs, waving at the bathroom, “If you want to go first.”

“I could help?” he asks, following Harry into the bathroom.

He flushes with embarrassment as he lifts his t-shirt over his head. “I don’t know. It’s gross, yeah?”

Louis shakes his head in disagreement. “No. It’s like a badge of honor.”

Harry smiles at that, and lets him help clean and redress the incision site. Louis helps Harry get tucked into bed, and stands still for a second looking at Emma one last time before moving to leave the bedroom.

“Lou?”

He pauses, his hand on the doorframe.

“Stay.”

Louis sighs, his fingers tightening on the wood. Harry sees indecision race across his features.

“Niall assures me he’s had better nights’ sleep on his billiard table than he has on that couch, and it will be easier to take turns feeding Emma if you’re in here.”

There’s a long pause, before Louis gives a tired nod, and gets into bed next to Harry. He makes sure to leave space between them, rolling towards the window and curling in on himself. Harry thinks back to Christmas, and feels keenly the absence of Louis’ warmth against his back, before sleep overtakes him.

~*~

The next two weeks can only be charitably described as chaos.

Emma wakes every two hours, and Harry can’t imagine how they can survive the fact that she just needs them _all_ the time. Even with Louis sleeping over, the pair of them are like zombies, moving around each other in the cramped space of the apartment without speaking, rubbing at tired eyes and stifling endless yawns.

Louis is doting and careful with Emma, smiling widely and speaking softly to her. Humming little nonsense songs as he changes her, and telling her outlandish fairy tales as he bathes her. But with Harry, he’s still clipped and tense. Hard edges concealing something sharp and unresolved under the surface.

It’s the worst kind of compromise: to have this perfect glimpse of Louis-as-father, wrapped in this ugly, uncomfortable, abrasive reality of Louis-as-ex-lover-and-co-parent. It’s as if all of Harry’s dire predictions are already coming true. That Louis feels trapped here, with him. Maybe the sooner Emma is sleeping through the night, the better. Then Louis can leave without feeling guilty and the suffocating tension that permeates the apartment can lift.

He tucks Emma in carefully, and closes the bedroom door. Louis is slumped on the couch, his socked feet up on the coffee table.

“She went down okay?” he asks, poking at some pasta in a bowl listlessly.

“Yeah, she was asleep before she finished the bottle.” Harry perches on the edge of the arm chair, his elbows on his knees. “Lou, do you need some time away?”

Louis looks up with a start, his forehead lined in a frown. “What?”

“I mean, if you wanted to go back to the dorm, or even just, I don’t know, go out for the evening.”

Louis’ expression curls into something unpleasant, almost offended. “What have I done wrong now?”

Harry sighs and runs his hand through his hair, trying to work out when his life became this constant balancing on eggshells. “Nothing. You haven’t...it’s not anything you’ve done. But things between us aren’t great.”

Louis snorts. “Things between _us_ aren’t great because you kept our baby a secret. But Emma is my daughter and I plan to be here for _her_ , whether you like how I’m behaving towards you or not.”

Harry sinks back into his chair, his head dropping back, looking up at the ceiling in the hopes that the hot tears he can feel itching at his eyeballs don’t spill over. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lou. I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve apologized and I’ll keep apologizing. But we need this to work better. I want you to be able to be with Emma as much as you like, but I don’t want you to feel stuck here with me. You move around these tiny little rooms like you’d rather be anywhere but near me and I’m exhausted as it is, I’m too tired to be made to feel like a leper in my own home.”

Louis sighs, and puts his bowl down on the table, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I’m trying to forgive you,” he says, quietly, his voice rough and low.

Then there is nothing. Just silence, broken only by the low static from Emma’s baby monitor.

Harry’s heart aches.

“My mom,” Louis murmurs, staring at his hands. “She hasn’t had a lot of luck with relationships. I’ve grown up watching men leave her, leave _us_. I’ve always thought that the idea of long-term commitment was bullshit. A fairytale.”

Louis picks at a loose thread on his jeans, clearly uncomfortable with revealing any of this to Harry. To anyone. “It always seemed easy, to them. To leave, I mean. It seemed like the easiest thing in the world to turn your back on your partner and your kids. So I figured, I’d never do that, yeah? I’d never put myself in a situation where that was even a possibility. I’d never leave a child to grow up without one of their parents.”

Harry’s throat feels thick.

“And now I’ve met Emma, it just makes no fucking sense, right? Because how could I leave her? I don’t even like leaving her in the next goddamn room. If I could have her, right here on my chest, sleeping, I would.”

And Harry knows, is the thing. Knows that overwhelming love that has spread like a tidal wave inside him, flattening everything else in its path. Knows that keen pang that he gets whenever he has to put Emma down.

“So, Harry, I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, really. But I don’t want you to be a single parent - I’m all in on this.”

There’s no stopping Harry’s tears now, welling in his eyes and blurring his vision.

“And I figure that means we have to build something together that’s more than just shared custody of Emma.”

“We _have_ to?” Harry stutters out, concentrating on that word, and all the obligation that seems to be curled up inside it.

Louis looks up, his eyes bright with uncertainty. “I...I _want_ to. If you do.”

Harry’s answering sob is a choked, mangled sound. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so relieved. “Yes. I...yes.”

“But, we’re both fucking exhausted. And I’m still so mad at you, and I don’t know how to trust you yet. So...it’s going to take some time, I reckon.”

Harry nods. It would take time, but just knowing that Louis wanted to stay, that seems like it’s enough.

They get ready for bed in silence, and when Emma stirs for her feed a few hours later, Harry feels Louis’ hand warm and reassuring on his arm as he slips from the bed.

It’s one thing to say that they want to try. The reality is something altogether different, as they continue to knock elbows in the bathroom and squabble about dirty dishes in the sink. Harry feels like he is trying as hard as he can, but the only time they’re ever on the same page about anything is when it comes to Emma.

Louis steadfastly refuses to stick to the careful budget Harry has mapped out, coming home from class with bags of groceries, and signing Harry up for his own Netflix account, and ordering takeout whenever he’s too tired to cook. And Harry knows, he _knows_ Louis thinks he’s looking after Harry, but it just gets under his skin like an itch that won’t go away. That even when he can go back to the gas station on reduced hours, the money he makes isn’t going to be enough to live this way. Not if Harry wants to pull his weight, and that’s _all_ he wants.

Louis is back in classes full time, and so Niall comes over more often, pulling faces at the extraordinary stench Emma can create when she’s soiled a diaper, but cooing at her, totally won over by her tiny little fingers grabbing his, all the same.

“How are things with Zayn?” Harry asks, slumping into a chair having settled a now-clean Emma in for her sleep.

Niall is stuffing last night’s leftover burritos in his face, and trying to work out how to stream the college basketball game on his laptop. He shrugs disinterestedly.

Harry’s eyebrows find his hairline. “He dropped you already?”

Niall chokes a bit on his food as he laughs. “Christ, no. I dropped him. He’s hot as fuck, but dumb as a bag of rocks. Couldn’t carry on a conversation with him for more than five minutes at a time.”

Harry lets out an incredulous laugh. “Louis left you an envelope on the fridge.”

“Good man!” Niall exclaims, bounding up to grab at it from under the magnet. Harry hadn’t bothered to look at it this morning, but now he watches Niall open it and start to count out twenties and he feels all the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. It’s like the day at the mall all over again. Louis _knows_ Harry won’t take his money, and now he’s giving it to Niall.

“What the fuck, Nialler,” he seethes, pushing to his feet and shoving at his friend’s arm. “What’s he got you buying for me now?! I’ve told him and _told_ him…”

“Slow your fucking roll, Harry,” Niall snatches the envelope away from him, giving him a withering look. “He lost a bet to me about your daughter being a girl. This has got nothing to do with you.”

Harry feels his face heat up, embarrassed, and takes a step back.

“Not for nothing, Harry, but you’ve got to give Louis a fucking break. He’s bending over backwards here, and he knows you don’t want his bloody money, and he’s trying his absolute hardest. And as far as I can tell, you’re wandering around with a chip on your shoulder the size of Kentucky and blaming him for all this petty shit, like buying the wrong brand of fucking diapers, instead of owning the fact that you really hurt him.”

Harry sinks back to the couch, as if physically struck by the force of Niall’s words.

“He’s trying to take care of his goddamn daughter. You need to let him.”

Harry bends forward, the weight of what Niall is saying heavy in the air between them. His friend comes over and sinks down beside him, slinging an arm across his shoulders. “C’mon mate, let me get this stupid fucking VPN working so we can watch the game.”

Harry manages a nod, and the silence gradually shifts from uncomfortable back to companionable. But he’s still chewing on Niall’s words as he falls asleep that night.

~*~

Louis kicks him out the following morning, insisting he walk to the coffee shop on the corner.

“You need fresh air, and you need to be moving more to get your core strength back. Sitting around all day in this…” he pauses, and lets out a small sigh as Harry watches him force down the adjectives he wants to use, “place isn’t good for you. Go.”

He’s right, of course. It is good to be outside, the air sharpening as spring approaches and the campus full of activity. It makes him realize how much of a cocoon he’s been in since Emma was born. All these people, out in the world, going about their day - and their day doesn’t consist of one tiny human eating, and sleeping, and filling her diapers on rotation.

The coffee shop smells amazing and he orders bagels for himself and Louis to go, waiting by the noticeboard for his coffee order to be called. The board is stuffed with flyers for yoga classes and rideshares and guitar tutors, but a bright blue one catches his eye.

“Harry?” the barista calls, and he tugs the flyer from the board before he can change his mind, stuffing it in his pocket and taking the coffees in a cardboard tray. He gets extra creamer and sugar packets for Louis and pushes back out into the bracing morning air.

When he unlocks the door at home and pushes it he hits the back of the armchair, and has to squeeze his way back in.

“God, sorry,” Louis says, scrambling to his feet to help. He’s made space on the floor for a bright quilt that Johannah had given them, and Emma is lying on her tummy, head turned to the side.

“It’s okay,” Harry smiles, handing him the coffee and creamer. “They were out of everything bagels, but I got you onion and that flavoured cream cheese you like.”

Louis’ answering smile is soft, and grateful. “I made a bit of a mess,” he says, waving apologetically at the floor and the pushed back furniture and the jumble of toys and board books that Emma probably can’t even see yet.

Harry shoves his hand in his pocket and tugs out the flyer. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice suddenly uncertain. Louis looks up with concern. “I haven’t been fair on you, these last couple of weeks. You’ve compromised in every possible way: squeezing in here, taking care of us both. And I…haven’t, really.”

Louis shakes his head a little, as if he’s about to find a way to disagree. Harry catches his wrist in one hand. “I found this, at the coffee shop. And I think I’d like...I mean, if you’re willing.” He hands Louis the crumpled flyer. “I’ve made a fucking mess of this, but I’d like to get some help to fix it.”

Louis looks at the piece of paper, and back up at Harry in surprise. “Couples counselling?”

Harry waits for him to sneer, or to laugh the idea off as ridiculous, but he just rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, lost in thought.

“I...yeah. I mean, that makes sense.”

Harry exhales in relief.

They take Emma, who sleeps in her car seat beside beaten up couch in the counsellor’s rooms in the student centre. The woman is in her fifties, with long grey hair tucked behind her ears, and wrists full of bangles that jangle as she gestures. She has a kind smile, a sharp wit, and a knack for unpicking the things that have knotted up between Harry and Louis. Trust, betrayal, insecurity, money.

At the end of their third session, she looks up from her notes. “Homework, before next time. I want you to have a conversation, for at least an hour, about things that are nothing to do with Emma. Set a timer if you have to. Hold each other to it.”

Harry bites at his lower lip and nods, as he lifts Emma’s carrier and Louis opens the door.

Out on the sidewalk, Louis fusses with his jacket and pauses.

“Do you need to get to class? I can walk back from here,” Harry says, feeling awkward. The counselling has helped, a lot. But it’s still hard to move from the bubble of raw honesty back into just _existing_ in the real world.

“No, uh…” Louis looks unsure about something.

“What is it?”

“If we’re going to keep going to couples counselling,” Louis says, the corners of his mouth turning up in a tiny hint of a smile, “then I think maybe you should go out with me.”

“What?” Harry’s heart stutters. He looks down at his feet, trying to work out what Louis means, or where this is going.

Louis reaches out and tilts his head up, with one finger under his chin. “Go out with me. On a real date. Our very first, real date.” His expression is open, and hopeful, and genuine. And Harry feels like he’s being pranked somehow, because it doesn’t seem possible, after everything they’ve been through, that they could end up here.

“We’ve done this all ass-backwards,” he manages, letting out a nervous laugh. “Fucking, having a kid together, ending up in counselling, and _then_ going on a first date?!”

Louis laughs as well, and from the carseat, Emma snuffles a small yawn that still causes them both to look.

“Well, she’s on my side,” Louis says, with conviction. “How about it?”

“Yes, of course I’ll go out with you.” He looks back at Emma. “In six months, I guess, when we’re ready to leave her with a babysitter.”

Louis laces his fingers through Harry’s and gives his hand a squeeze, still staring down at Emma, enamored with her sleeping form.

“We’ll take her with us,” Louis says, finally. “Tomorrow night. Dress up, Styles. I’ve seen you in nothing but stretched-out sweats for more than nine months. It’s depressing.”

Harry shoves at his arm, but can’t stop his smile from taking over the whole of his face.

~*~

Louis heads to class the following afternoon and says he’ll pick him up at six, and Harry manages to refrain from saying that he’s not sure that makes sense when they live together, because just the idea of it is enough to set his pulse racing.

He has to change outfits twice, because the first time he realizes he can kind of see his scar through the sheer shirt, and he’s not ready for that. The second time it’s because Emma throws up all over his shoulder.

“Third time lucky, bean,” he says to her, as he dresses her in a clean outfit. The green one, with the lambs.

He takes the box with the boots Niall gave him down from the top of the closet, and he shimmies into the tightest jeans he can fit. He looks over his reflection for a final time, seeing someone who looks a little like the Harry who met Louis, and at the same time, nothing like that person at all.

Louis knocks on the door at six sharp, and Harry tugs it open ready to mock him for being so silly given he has the goddamn key, but the words stick in his throat and his mouth dries up. Louis is wearing dark jeans and blazer, his shirt open at the neck. His hair is carefully styled, and he’s wearing that fucking cologne, and all Harry can manage is a choked-sounding “ _Christ_ , Lou.”

A blush blooms high on Louis’ cheekbones, as he looks Harry up and down. “You too, babe,” he murmurs, as Harry steps aside to let him in.

Louis scoops Emma up from her Moses basket on the couch, nuzzling at her face with his nose. “And you, my gorgeous girl. You look good enough to eat!” He fastens her into her car seat, and Harry tries hard to get his pulse to slow down. This is Louis, for fucks sake. They’ve eaten almost every meal they’ve had together for the last two months. There’s no reason to be this nervous.

Louis drives them to a bustling family-friendly Italian restaurant in the suburbs away from the campus. The waitress coos over Emma and gives them a four-top so they have space to have her carrier on a seat beside them. Harry feels like maybe they’re overdressed, surrounded by soccer moms and screaming toddlers, but he literally does not give a shit, because Louis is the best-looking man he has ever seen right now, and he’s here with Harry and _their daughter_.

They order pasta, and a bottle of red wine. Louis quirks an eyebrow at him. “Last time I saw you drinking, Styles, I wound up with vomit all over me.”

Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. “I’d been on water all night. But fuck, that was awful. I’m so sorry.”

“You already knew, back then?” Louis sounds surprised.

“No, but I had terrible morning sickness, all through the first trimester. So I didn’t feel like drinking at all.”

Louis takes his hand across the table and gives it a small squeeze. “I wish I’d known,” he murmurs, and for the first time it doesn’t sound like an accusation.

“Besides, you were with Zayn, and I didn’t want to…” the words tumble out in a rush, and Harry isn’t sure where to look all of a sudden.

Louis tips his head back and laughs. “Zayn?! Definitely not. Zayn and I haven’t fucked around since high school.” His tone softens, becomes confessional. “In fact, there hasn’t been anyone since Christmas. Since, before Christmas, actually.”

Harry sucks in a small breath, laces their fingers together.

The food is simple, but delicious, and the wine warms Harry all the way to his toes, and Louis makes him laugh until his abdomen aches. They talk about their childhoods, and trade their favorite stories about Niall, and murmur confessions about first kisses and second chances. He knows they can’t stay out much longer, but he’d give anything to just preserve this moment and live in it forever.

“So, this has been pretty perfect,” Louis says, giving voice to his own thoughts. “So, I’m going to risk ruining it.”

Harry’s heart sinks. He sits upright and fidgets a little, waves of insecurity washing over him.

Louis looks nervous, picking at his napkin. “I may not understand exactly why you feel so strongly about my having more money than you, but I do know that you want to feel independent, and that you’re scared of me leaving and you having to find a way to do this on your own.”

Harry gives a small nod. It’s more insight than he’s probably had himself, but the counsellor has been helping them to try and unravel just why this has all been making him so uncomfortable.

“But, you need to know that I’m not going anywhere. Not because I feel trapped, or obligated. But because I love Emma with all my heart. And I think I’m going to wind up loving you too.”

Harry can’t breathe. He feels like everyone in the restaurant must be able to hear the way his heart is pounding.

“So, I want to be able to provide for her, and for you. And it needs to be something more than brand-name diapers. I want to move us to a bigger apartment.” The words come out in a tumble, as if he’s scared of Harry’s reaction. “We need two bedrooms, Harry. And a proper kitchen. She’s going to be walking before we can even believe it. We need more space.”

Every fiber of Harry’s being wants to protest, but he forces himself to sit quietly, looking at Louis’ fraught expression, the sharp planes of his cheekbones. Those incredible blue eyes looking up at him from under impossibly long lashes. He thinks about the way Louis absorbed the blow of finding out about Emma and just kept moving forward, pushing past Harry’s insecurities and his temperamental behavior. The way he’s been this constant, calm presence around Emma. The things he’s given up: deferring his internship, dropping one of his extra classes, his entire social life.

An older woman, in her sixties, with silver hair carefully pulled back in a bun, stops by their table on her way to the front door, to admire Emma, now sleeping quietly in her carrier.

“Can you even believe how tiny they are like this?” she asks, awed, looking up at the pair of them. Harry smiles at her. She gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You have a beautiful family, young man, you should be very proud.”

All Harry can do is nod, too overwhelmed to even agree out loud as she moves off to the register.

He takes both of Louis’ hands in his.

“Let’s get a bigger apartment.”

Louis’ answering smile is blinding.

Returning to the family housing complex, and knowing it won’t be for much longer, makes Harry unaccountably happy. He listens to Louis hum as he tucks Emma in after her feed, as he potters around in the bathroom. He comes out to find all the lights off in the living area, and Louis quietly shifting the Moses basket out of their bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Louis returns with her monitor and softly closes the bedroom door.

“I know it’s only our first date, Styles. But I’m hoping you’re the sort of boy who might put out a little anyway,” he says with a smile, sliding his hands around Harry’s neck and leaning up to kiss him chastely. His fingers slide into Harry’s hair, and his lips feel impossibly soft. It lasts only seconds, but Harry feels breathless and overwhelmed with need.

“I want to, Lou. God you have no idea how much I want to,” he groans, burying his face in Louis neck. “But Doctor Mason won’t clear me for sex for another two weeks.”

Louis’ fingers move up Harry’s side, sliding under his t-shirt, tracing hot trails against his skin. Harry can’t stop himself, pressing open-mouthed kisses against Louis’ neck and jaw.

He laughs softly. “I’m not sleeping with you again until you’re on birth control, you overly-fertile monster. I learnt my lesson the hard way.”

Harry pulls back, takes in Louis’ heavy-lidded expression. Feels the hard length of him against his thigh, tries to push his thoughts into some semblance of order.

Louis pushes a lock of his hair gently back behind his ear. “I don’t regret it,” he whispers, as if he can read Harry’s mind. “She’s everything.”

And then he’s walking Harry gently back to the bed, tugging his shirt over his head and kissing his way down his torso. Pausing to breathe reverently by Harry’s scar, one finger trailing alongside it, sending sparks across Harry’s skin.

And it’s been so long, too long since Harry has felt anything like this. His insides feel like lava, inferno-hot and liquid, and Louis’ mouth is on him working incantations with his tongue, and he wants to hold on, wants to reciprocate, but he can’t do anything but writhe beneath him, his head tipped back, crying out Louis’ name as he comes.

He comes back to himself slowly, blinking at the pockmarked ceiling, and wrapping his arms around Louis, pulling him close to his chest. His breathing evens out, and he blinks, overwhelmed at how intense it feels, to finally be here together like this.

He slides a hand down Louis body, reaching for him. “Let me…” but Louis grabs at his wrist, burying his face in Harry’s chest with a chuckle.

“Too late.”

“Really?” he laughs in surprise.

“It’s been a long time, Harry,” he says, aiming for indignant, but failing. Harry just squeezes him closer, running his fingers through the soft hairs at the back of his neck.

“You once told me not to fall for you, Louis. You said you weren’t my happily ever after.”

Louis looks up at him, his smile rueful. “Probably should have taken my own advice, then.”

Harry kisses him thoroughly. They’re interrupted by Emma’s cry, doubled through the monitor.

Louis holds out his fist. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

“Loser feeds Emma?” Harry asks, stretching his limbs, and feeling boneless and happy and warm.

“Winner feeds Emma,” Louis smirks. “Loser sleeps in the wet patch.”

Harry loses.

But as he listens to Louis in the next room humming quietly to their daughter as she feeds, rolls over onto the damp sheet and slips into sleep, he feels like maybe he’s won.

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, here's the [tumblr](http://helenahjay.tumblr.com/post/146139657778/im-in-trouble-deep-by-helenahjay-scrufflecake) post for sharing.


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